The Brothers Karamazov

“In my opinion it is even sensible and moral that you restrained yourself and did not squander it all,” Nikolai Parfenovich tittered, “because what’s wrong with that, sir?”

“That I stole, that’s what! Oh, God, you horrify me with your lack of understanding! All the while I carried that fifteen hundred sewn up on my chest, I kept saying to myself every day and every hour: ‘You are a thief, you are a thief!’ And that’s why I raged all month, that’s why I fought in the tavern, that’s why I beat my father, because I felt I was a thief! I could not bring myself, I did not dare to reveal anything about the fifteen hundred even to Alyosha, my brother: so much did I feel myself a scoundrel and a pickpocket. But know that all the while I carried it, every day and every hour, I kept saying to myself at the same time: ‘No, Dmitri Fyodorovich, perhaps you’re not yet a thief.’ Why? Precisely because you can go tomorrow and give the fifteen hundred back to Katya. And only yesterday did I decide to tear the amulet off my neck, on my way from Fenya to Perkhotin, for until that moment I couldn’t decide, and as soon as I tore it off, at that moment I became a final and indisputable thief, a thief and a dishonest man for the rest of my life. Why? Because along with the amulet, my dream of going to Katya and saying: ‘I am a scoundrel, but not a thief,’ was also torn up! Do you understand now, do you understand!”

“Why did you decide to do it precisely last evening?” Nikolai Parfenovich interrupted.

“Why? A funny question! Because I had condemned myself to death, at five o’clock in the morning, here, at dawn: ‘It’s all the same how I die,’ I thought, ‘as a scoundrel or as a noble man! ‘ But not so, it turned out not to be all the same! Believe me, gentlemen, what tormented me most this night was not that I had killed the old servant, and that I was threatened with Siberia, and all of that when?—when my love had been crowned and heaven was open to me again! Oh, that was a torment, but not so great, still not so great as the cursed awareness that I had finally torn that cursed money off my chest and spent it, and therefore was now a final thief! Oh, gentlemen, I repeat to you in my heart’s blood: I learned a lot this night! I learned that it is impossible not only to live a scoundrel, but also to die a scoundrel ... No, gentlemen, one must die honestly . . .!”

Mitya was pale. His face had a wasted and worn-out look, despite his intense excitement.

“I am beginning to understand you, Dmitri Fyodorovich,” the prosecutor drawled softly and even somehow compassionately, “but, be it as you say, still, in my opinion it is just nerves ... your overwrought nerves, that’s all, sir. And why, for instance, to spare yourself so much torment over almost a whole month, would you not go and return the fifteen hundred to the person who entrusted it to you, and then, having talked things over with her, why, in view of your situation at the time, which you describe as being so terrible, would you not try the solution that so naturally comes to mind—I mean, after nobly confessing your errors to her, why not ask her for the sum needed for your expenses, which she, with her generous heart, seeing how upset you were, of course would not refuse you, especially with some written agreement, or, finally, at least with the same security you offered to the merchant Samsonov and Madame Khokhlakov? I suppose you still consider that security to be of value?”

Mitya suddenly blushed.

“Do you really consider me such a downright scoundrel? You can’t possibly be serious . . .!” he said indignantly, looking the prosecutor in the eye, as if he could not believe what he had heard.

“I assure you I am serious ... Why do you think I am not?” The prosecutor, in turn, was also surprised. “Oh, how base that would be! Gentlemen, you’re tormenting me, do you know that? As you wish, I’ll tell you everything, so be it, I will now confess all my infernality to you, just to put you to shame, and you yourselves will be surprised at what baseness a combination of human feelings can sink to. Know, then, that I already had that solution in mind, the very one you were just talking about, prosecutor! Yes, gentlemen, I, too, had that thought during this cursed month, so that I almost resolved to go to Katya, so base I was! But to go to her, to announce my betrayal to her, and for that betrayal, to carry through that betrayal, for the future expenses of that betrayal, to ask money (to ask, do you hear, to ask! ) from her, from Katya, and immediately run off with another woman, with her rival, with her hater and offender—my God, you’re out of your mind, prosecutor!”

“Out of my mind or not, of course, in the heat of the moment, I did fail to consider ... this matter of female jealousy ... if indeed there is a question of jealousy here, as you affirm ... yes, perhaps there is something of the sort,” the prosecutor grinned.