The Brothers Karamazov

This new fact came as a complete surprise to everyone, no one in the entire town knew of it, nor even in the monastery, not even Mitya knew it. It was said that Rakitin turned crimson from shame in his seat. Grushenka had found out somehow, even before she entered the courtroom, that he had testified against Mitya, and it made her angry. All of Mr. Rakitin’s earlier speech, all its nobility, all its outbursts against serfdom, against the civil disorder of Russia—all of it was now finally scrapped and destroyed in the general opinion. Fetyukovich was pleased: once again it was a small godsend. But in general Grushenka was not questioned for very long, and, of course, she could not say anything especially new. She left a rather unpleasant impression on the public. Hundreds of contemptuous looks were fixed on her when, having finished her testimony, she went and sat down in the courtroom a good distance from Katerina Ivanovna. Mitya was silent throughout her questioning, as if turned to stone, his eyes fixed on the ground.

The next witness to appear was Ivan Fyodorovich.

Chapter 5: A Sudden Catastrophe

I will note that he had already been called once, ahead of Alyosha. But the marshal had reported to the presiding judge that, owing to sudden illness or an attack of some kind, the witness could not appear at that moment, but that as soon as he felt better he would be ready to give his testimony whenever they wanted. Somehow, by the way, no one heard this, and it became known only afterwards. His appearance at first went almost unnoticed: the main witnesses, especially the two rival women, had already been questioned; curiosity, for the time being, was satisfied. One could even sense some weariness in the public. They faced the prospect of listening to several more witnesses, who probably had nothing special to say in view of all that had already been said. And time was passing. Ivan Fyodorovich somehow approached remarkably slowly, not looking at anyone and even with his head bowed, as though gloomily pondering something. He was dressed impeccably, but his face produced a morbid impression, at least on me: there was in his face something, as it were, touched with clay, something resembling the face of a dying man. His eyes were dull; he raised them and looked slowly around the courtroom. Alyosha suddenly jumped up from his chair and groaned: aah! I remember it. But not many people caught that either.

The presiding judge began by saying that he was not under oath, that he could give evidence or withhold it, but that, of course, all testimony should be given in good conscience, etc., etc. Ivan Fyodorovich listened and looked at him dully; but suddenly his face began slowly spreading into a grin, and as soon as the judge, who looked at him in surprise, finished speaking, he suddenly burst into laughter.

“Well, anything else?” he asked loudly.

A hush came over the courtroom; something was sensed, as it were. The judge became uneasy.

“You ... are perhaps still a bit unwell?” he said, looking around for the marshal.

“Don’t worry, Your Honor, I’m well enough, and I have something curious to tell you,” Ivan Fyodorovich suddenly replied, quite calmly and respectfully.

“You mean you have some specific information to present? “ the judge went on, still mistrustfully.

Ivan Fyodorovich looked down, hesitated for a few seconds, and, raising his head again, stammered, as it were, in reply:

“No ... I don’t. Nothing special.”

They began asking him questions. He replied somehow quite reluctantly, somehow with exaggerated brevity, even with a sort of repugnance, which increased more and more, though, by the way, his answers were still sensible. To many questions he pleaded ignorance. No, he did not know anything of his father’s accountings with Dmitri Fyodorovich. “Nor was I concerned with it,” he said. Yes, he had heard the defendant threaten to kill his father. Yes, he had heard about the money in the envelope from Smerdyakov . . .

“It’s all the same thing over and over,” he suddenly interrupted with a weary look. “I have nothing special to tell the court.”

“I can see that you are not well, and I understand your feelings ... ,”the judge began.

He turned to the two parties, the prosecutor and the defense attorney, inviting them to ask questions if they thought it necessary, when suddenly Ivan Fyodorovich said in an exhausted voice:

“Let me go, Your Honor, I am feeling very ill.”

And at that, without waiting for permission, he suddenly turned and started out of the courtroom. But having gone about four steps, he stopped as if suddenly pondering something, chuckled softly, and went back to his former place again.