The Brothers Karamazov

It came as a complete surprise even to Alyosha himself. He was called up without being under oath, and I remember that from the very first words of the examination all sides treated him with great gentleness and sympathy. One could see that his good fame had preceded him. Alyosha testified modestly and with reserve, but an ardent sympathy for his unfortunate brother kept obviously breaking through his testimony. In answer to one question, he outlined his brother’s character as that of a man who, if he was indeed violent and carried away by his passions, was also noble, proud, and magnanimous, ready even for any sacrifice if it was wanted of him. He admitted, however, that in recent days his brother had been in an unbearable situation because of his passion for Grushenka, because of the rivalry with his father. But he indignantly rejected even the suggestion that his brother could have killed with the purpose of robbery, though he confessed that in Mitya’s mind the three thousand roubles had turned almost into some sort of mania, that he regarded it as an inheritance left owing to him by his father, who had cheated him, and that, while he was a totally unmercenary man, he could not even begin speaking of that three thousand without rage and fury. Concerning the rivalry of the two “persons,” as the prosecutor put it—that is, Grushenka and Katya—he answered evasively, and even preferred once or twice not to answer at all.

“Did your brother tell you, at least, that he intended to kill his father?” the prosecutor asked. “You may choose not to answer if you find it necessary,” he added, “He never said it directly,” Alyosha replied.

“And how, then? Indirectly?” “He once spoke to me of his personal loathing for father, and of his fear that ... in an extreme moment ... in a moment of loathing ... he could, perhaps, even kill him.”

“And did you believe it when you heard it?”

“I am afraid to say I did. But I was always convinced that at the fatal moment some higher feeling would always save him, as it did indeed save him, because it was not he who killed my father,” Alyosha concluded firmly, in a loud voice, for all the courtroom to hear. The prosecutor gave a start, like a warhorse hearing the sound of trumpets.

“Rest assured that I fully believe in the complete sincerity of your conviction, and do not in the least connect it or assimilate it with love for your unfortunate brother. Your singular view of the whole tragic episode that took place in your family is already known to us from the preliminary investigation. I shall not conceal from you that it is original in the highest degree and contradicts all the other evidence obtained by the prosecution. And therefore at this point I must insist on asking you: what precisely were the facts that guided your thought and led you to a final conviction of your brother’s innocence and, on the contrary, of the guilt of a certain other person to whom you pointed directly in the preliminary investigation?”

“In the preliminary investigation I simply answered questions,” Alyosha said softly and calmly, “I did not come out and accuse Smerdyakov myself.”

“But still you pointed to him?”

“I pointed to him from what my brother Dmitri said. Even before the interrogation I was told of what happened at his arrest, and how he himself had then pointed to Smerdyakov. I believe completely that my brother is innocent. And if it was not he who killed father, then ...”

“Then it was Smerdyakov? But why Smerdyakov, precisely? And precisely why did you become so utterly convinced of your brother’s innocence?”

“I could not but believe my brother. I know he would not lie to me. I saw by his face that he was not lying to me.”

“Only by his face? That’s all the proof you have?”

“I have no other proof.”

“And concerning Smerdyakov’s guilt, you have not the slightest proof to base it on, apart from your brother’s words and the look on his face?”

“No, I do not have any other proof.”

At that the prosecutor had no more questions. Alyosha’s answers produced a most disappointing impression on the public. There had been some talk of Smerdyakov even before the trial, someone had heard something, someone had pointed to something, it was said that Alyosha had gathered some extraordinary proof in favor of his brother and of the lackey’s guilt, and now—nothing, no proof, except for certain moral convictions quite natural in him as the defendant’s brother.

But then Fetyukovich began his questioning. He asked precisely when it was that the defendant had told him, Alyosha, of his hatred for their father, and of being capable of killing him, whether he had said it, for example, at their last meeting before the catastrophe, and as Alyosha was answering, he suddenly seemed to jump, as if he had just then recalled and understood something:

“I now recall one circumstance I had quite forgotten; it was not at all clear to me then, but now ...”