The Brothers Karamazov

“You know who,” Alyosha said softly, and with emotion.

“Who? You mean that fable about the mad epileptic idiot? About Smerdyakov?”

Alyosha suddenly felt himself trembling all over.

“You know who,” escaped him helplessly. He was breathless.

“Who? Who?” Ivan cried almost fiercely now. All his reserve suddenly vanished.

“I know only one thing,” Alyosha said, still in the same near whisper. “It was not you who killed father.”

“‘Not you’! What do you mean by ‘not you’?” Ivan was dumbfounded.

“It was not you who killed father, not you!” Alyosha repeated firmly.

The silence lasted for about half a minute.

“But I know very well it was not me—are you raving? “ Ivan said with a pale and crooked grin. His eyes were fastened, as it were, on Alyosha. The two were again standing under a streetlamp.

“No, Ivan, you’ve told yourself several times that you were the murderer.”

“When did I ... ? I was in Moscow ... When did I say so?” Ivan stammered, completely at a loss.

“You’ve said it to yourself many times while you were alone during these two horrible months,” Alyosha continued as softly and distinctly as before. But he was now speaking not of himself, as it were, not of his own will, but obeying some sort of irresistible command. “You’ve accused yourself and confessed to yourself that you and you alone are the murderer. But it was not you who killed him, you are mistaken, the murderer was not you, do you hear, it was not you! God has sent me to tell you that.”

They both fell silent. For a whole, long minute the silence continued. They both stood there looking into each other’s eyes. They were both pale. Suddenly Ivan began shaking all over and gripped Alyosha hard by the shoulder.

“You were in my room!” he uttered in a rasping whisper. “You were in my room at night when he came ... Confess ... you saw him, didn’t you?”

“Who are you talking about ... Mitya?” Alyosha asked in bewilderment.

“Not him—devil take the monster!” Ivan shouted frenziedly. “Can you possibly know that he’s been coming to me? How did you find out? Speak!”

“Who is he? I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Alyosha murmured, frightened now.

“No, you do know ... otherwise how could you ... it’s impossible that you don’t know ...”

But suddenly he seemed to check himself. He stood and seemed to be thinking something over. A strange grin twisted his lips.

“Brother,” Alyosha began again, in a trembling voice, “I’ve said this to you because you will believe my word, I know it. I’ve spoken this word to you for the whole of your life: it was not you! Do you hear? For the whole of your life. And it is God who has put it into my heart to say this to you, even if you were to hate me forever after ...”

But Ivan Fyodorovich had now apparently managed to regain control of himself.

“Alexei Fyodorovich,” he spoke with a cold smile, “I cannot bear prophets and epileptics, messengers from God especially, you know that only too well. From this moment on I am breaking with you, and, I suppose, forever. I ask you to leave me this instant, at this very crossroads. Besides, your way home is down this lane. Beware especially of coming to me today! Do you hear?”

He turned and walked straight off, with firm steps, not looking back.

“Brother,” Alyosha called after him, “if anything happens to you today, think of me first of all...!”