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punch in the face oh, Im sorry I didnt think of it. Though blows are forbidden, I should have pounded your ugly face to a jelly. Smerdyakov looked at him almost with relish. In the ordinary occasions of life, he said in the same complacent and sententious tone in which he had taunted Grigory and argued with him about religion at Fyodor Pavlovitchs table, in the ordinary occasions of life, blows on the face are forbidden nowadays by law and people have given them up, but in exceptional occasions of life people still fly to blows, not only among us but all over the world, be it even the fullest Republic of France, just as in the time of Adam and Eve, and they never will leave off, but you, even in an exceptional case, did not dare. What are you learning French words for? Ivan nodded towards the exercise-book lying on the table. Why shouldnt I learn them so as to improve my education, supposing that I may myself chance to go some day to those happy parts of Europe. Listen, monster, Ivans eyes flashed and he trembled all over. I am not afraid of your accusations, you can say what you like about me, and if I dont beat you to death, its simply because I suspect you of that crime and Ill drag you to justice. Ill unmask you. To my thinking, youd better keep quiet, for what can you accuse me of, considering my absolute innocence; and who would believe you? Only if you begin, I shall tell everything, too, for I must defend myself. Do you think I am afraid of you now? If the court doesnt believe all Ive said to you just now, the public will, and you will be ashamed. Thats as much as to say Its always worth while speaking to a sensible man, eh? snarled Ivan. You hit the mark, indeed. And youd better be sensible. Ivan got up, shaking all over with indignation, put on his coat, and without replying further to Smerdyakov, without even looking at him, walked quickly out of the cottage. The cool evening air refreshed him. There was a bright moon in the sky. A nightmare of ideas and sensations filled his soul. Shall I go at once and give information against Smerdyakov? But what information can I give? He is not guilty, anyway. On the contrary, hell accuse me. And in fact why did I set off for Tchermashnya then? What for? What for? Ivan asked himself. Yes, of course, I was expecting something and he is right And he remembered for the hundredth time how, on that last night in his fathers house, he had listened on the stairs. But he remembered it now with such anguish that he stood still on the spot as though he had been stabbed. Yes, I expected it then, thats true! I wanted the murder, I did want the murder! Did I want the murder? Did I want it? I must kill Smerdyakov! If I dont dare kill Smerdyakov now, life is not worth living! Ivan did not go home, but went straight to Katerina Ivanovna and alarmed her by his appearance. He was like a madman. He repeated all his conversation with Smerdyakov, every syllable of it. He couldnt be calmed, however much she tried to soothe him: he kept walking about the room, speaking strangely, disconnectedly. At last he sat down, put his elbows on the table, leaned his head on his hands and pronounced this strange sentence: If its not Dmitri, but Smerdyakov whos the murderer, I share his guilt, for I put him up to it. Whether I did, I dont know yet. But if he is the murderer, and not Dmitri, then, of course, I am the murderer, too. When Katerina Ivanovna heard that, she got up from her seat without a word, went to her writing-table, opened a box standing on it, took out a sheet of paper and laid it before Ivan. This was the document of which Ivan spoke to Alyosha later on as a conclusive proof that Dmitri had killed his father. This was the letter written by Mitya to Katerina Ivanovna when he was drunk, on the very evening he met |
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