feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Brothers Karamazov/section_11_part_2.txt
feat_book_id: The Brothers Karamazov.book 9.chapter 2
feat_summary_id: book 9, chapter 2
feat_summary: {"name": "book 9, Chapter 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210305110438/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/brothersk/section12/", "summary": "The Alarm Perkhotin goes to tell the police about his fear, but he finds that the station is already a hubbub of activity. Grigory's wife has made another report to the police. Fyodor Pavlovich has been murdered", "analysis": ""}
text: Chapter II. The Alarm
  
  
  Our police captain, Mihail Makarovitch Makarov, a retired lieutenant-
  colonel, was a widower and an excellent man. He had only come to us three
  years previously, but had won general esteem, chiefly because he "knew how
  to keep society together." He was never without visitors, and could not
  have got on without them. Some one or other was always dining with him; he
  never sat down to table without guests. He gave regular dinners, too, on
  all sorts of occasions, sometimes most surprising ones. Though the fare
  was not _recherche_, it was abundant. The fish-pies were excellent, and
  the wine made up in quantity for what it lacked in quality.
  
  The first room his guests entered was a well-fitted billiard-room, with
  pictures of English race-horses, in black frames on the walls, an
  essential decoration, as we all know, for a bachelor's billiard-room.
  There was card-playing every evening at his house, if only at one table.
  But at frequent intervals, all the society of our town, with the mammas
  and young ladies, assembled at his house to dance. Though Mihail
  Makarovitch was a widower, he did not live alone. His widowed daughter
  lived with him, with her two unmarried daughters, grown-up girls, who had
  finished their education. They were of agreeable appearance and lively
  character, and though every one knew they would have no dowry, they
  attracted all the young men of fashion to their grandfather's house.
  
  Mihail Makarovitch was by no means very efficient in his work, though he
  performed his duties no worse than many others. To speak plainly, he was a
  man of rather narrow education. His understanding of the limits of his
  administrative power could not always be relied upon. It was not so much
  that he failed to grasp certain reforms enacted during the present reign,
  as that he made conspicuous blunders in his interpretation of them. This
  was not from any special lack of intelligence, but from carelessness, for
  he was always in too great a hurry to go into the subject.
  
  "I have the heart of a soldier rather than of a civilian," he used to say
  of himself. He had not even formed a definite idea of the fundamental
  principles of the reforms connected with the emancipation of the serfs,
  and only picked it up, so to speak, from year to year, involuntarily
  increasing his knowledge by practice. And yet he was himself a landowner.
  Pyotr Ilyitch knew for certain that he would meet some of Mihail
  Makarovitch's visitors there that evening, but he didn't know which. As it
  happened, at that moment the prosecutor, and Varvinsky, our district
  doctor, a young man, who had only just come to us from Petersburg after
  taking a brilliant degree at the Academy of Medicine, were playing whist
  at the police captain's. Ippolit Kirillovitch, the prosecutor (he was
  really the deputy prosecutor, but we always called him the prosecutor),
  was rather a peculiar man, of about five and thirty, inclined to be
  consumptive, and married to a fat and childless woman. He was vain and
  irritable, though he had a good intellect, and even a kind heart. It
  seemed that all that was wrong with him was that he had a better opinion
  of himself than his ability warranted. And that made him seem constantly
  uneasy. He had, moreover, certain higher, even artistic, leanings, towards
  psychology, for instance, a special study of the human heart, a special
  knowledge of the criminal and his crime. He cherished a grievance on this
  ground, considering that he had been passed over in the service, and being
  firmly persuaded that in higher spheres he had not been properly
  appreciated, and had enemies. In gloomy moments he even threatened to give
  up his post, and practice as a barrister in criminal cases. The unexpected
  Karamazov case agitated him profoundly: "It was a case that might well be
  talked about all over Russia." But I am anticipating.
  
  Nikolay Parfenovitch Nelyudov, the young investigating lawyer, who had
  only come from Petersburg two months before, was sitting in the next room
  with the young ladies. People talked about it afterwards and wondered that
  all the gentlemen should, as though intentionally, on the evening of "the
  crime" have been gathered together at the house of the executive
  authority. Yet it was perfectly simple and happened quite naturally.
  
  Ippolit Kirillovitch's wife had had toothache for the last two days, and
  he was obliged to go out to escape from her groans. The doctor, from the
  very nature of his being, could not spend an evening except at cards.
  Nikolay Parfenovitch Nelyudov had been intending for three days past to
  drop in that evening at Mihail Makarovitch's, so to speak casually, so as
  slyly to startle the eldest granddaughter, Olga Mihailovna, by showing
  that he knew her secret, that he knew it was her birthday, and that she
  was trying to conceal it on purpose, so as not to be obliged to give a
  dance. He anticipated a great deal of merriment, many playful jests about
  her age, and her being afraid to reveal it, about his knowing her secret
  and telling everybody, and so on. The charming young man was a great adept
  at such teasing; the ladies had christened him "the naughty man," and he
  seemed to be delighted at the name. He was extremely well-bred, however,
  of good family, education and feelings, and, though leading a life of
  pleasure, his sallies were always innocent and in good taste. He was
  short, and delicate-looking. On his white, slender, little fingers he
  always wore a number of big, glittering rings. When he was engaged in his
  official duties, he always became extraordinarily grave, as though
  realizing his position and the sanctity of the obligations laid upon him.
  He had a special gift for mystifying murderers and other criminals of the
  peasant class during interrogation, and if he did not win their respect,
  he certainly succeeded in arousing their wonder.
  
  Pyotr Ilyitch was simply dumbfounded when he went into the police
  captain's. He saw instantly that every one knew. They had positively
  thrown down their cards, all were standing up and talking. Even Nikolay
  Parfenovitch had left the young ladies and run in, looking strenuous and
  ready for action. Pyotr Ilyitch was met with the astounding news that old
  Fyodor Pavlovitch really had been murdered that evening in his own house,
  murdered and robbed. The news had only just reached them in the following
  manner.
  
  Marfa Ignatyevna, the wife of old Grigory, who had been knocked senseless
  near the fence, was sleeping soundly in her bed and might well have slept
  till morning after the draught she had taken. But, all of a sudden she
  waked up, no doubt roused by a fearful epileptic scream from Smerdyakov,
  who was lying in the next room unconscious. That scream always preceded
  his fits, and always terrified and upset Marfa Ignatyevna. She could never
  get accustomed to it. She jumped up and ran half-awake to Smerdyakov's
  room. But it was dark there, and she could only hear the invalid beginning
  to gasp and struggle. Then Marfa Ignatyevna herself screamed out and was
  going to call her husband, but suddenly realized that when she had got up,
  he was not beside her in bed. She ran back to the bedstead and began
  groping with her hands, but the bed was really empty. Then he must have
  gone out--where? She ran to the steps and timidly called him. She got no
  answer, of course, but she caught the sound of groans far away in the
  garden in the darkness. She listened. The groans were repeated, and it was
  evident they came from the garden.
  
  "Good Lord! Just as it was with Lizaveta Smerdyastchaya!" she thought
  distractedly. She went timidly down the steps and saw that the gate into
  the garden was open.
  
  "He must be out there, poor dear," she thought. She went up to the gate
  and all at once she distinctly heard Grigory calling her by name, "Marfa!
  Marfa!" in a weak, moaning, dreadful voice.
  
  "Lord, preserve us from harm!" Marfa Ignatyevna murmured, and ran towards
  the voice, and that was how she found Grigory. But she found him not by
  the fence where he had been knocked down, but about twenty paces off. It
  appeared later, that he had crawled away on coming to himself, and
  probably had been a long time getting so far, losing consciousness several
  times. She noticed at once that he was covered with blood, and screamed at
  the top of her voice. Grigory was muttering incoherently:
  
  "He has murdered ... his father murdered.... Why scream, silly ... run ...
  fetch some one...."
  
  But Marfa continued screaming, and seeing that her master's window was
  open and that there was a candle alight in the window, she ran there and
  began calling Fyodor Pavlovitch. But peeping in at the window, she saw a
  fearful sight. Her master was lying on his back, motionless, on the floor.
  His light-colored dressing-gown and white shirt were soaked with blood.
  The candle on the table brightly lighted up the blood and the motionless
  dead face of Fyodor Pavlovitch. Terror-stricken, Marfa rushed away from
  the window, ran out of the garden, drew the bolt of the big gate and ran
  headlong by the back way to the neighbor, Marya Kondratyevna. Both mother
  and daughter were asleep, but they waked up at Marfa's desperate and
  persistent screaming and knocking at the shutter. Marfa, shrieking and
  screaming incoherently, managed to tell them the main fact, and to beg for
  assistance. It happened that Foma had come back from his wanderings and
  was staying the night with them. They got him up immediately and all three
  ran to the scene of the crime. On the way, Marya Kondratyevna remembered
  that at about eight o'clock she heard a dreadful scream from their garden,
  and this was no doubt Grigory's scream, "Parricide!" uttered when he
  caught hold of Mitya's leg.
  
  "Some one person screamed out and then was silent," Marya Kondratyevna
  explained as she ran. Running to the place where Grigory lay, the two
  women with the help of Foma carried him to the lodge. They lighted a
  candle and saw that Smerdyakov was no better, that he was writhing in
  convulsions, his eyes fixed in a squint, and that foam was flowing from
  his lips. They moistened Grigory's forehead with water mixed with vinegar,
  and the water revived him at once. He asked immediately:
  
  "Is the master murdered?"
  
  Then Foma and both the women ran to the house and saw this time that not
  only the window, but also the door into the garden was wide open, though
  Fyodor Pavlovitch had for the last week locked himself in every night and
  did not allow even Grigory to come in on any pretext. Seeing that door
  open, they were afraid to go in to Fyodor Pavlovitch "for fear anything
  should happen afterwards." And when they returned to Grigory, the old man
  told them to go straight to the police captain. Marya Kondratyevna ran
  there and gave the alarm to the whole party at the police captain's. She
  arrived only five minutes before Pyotr Ilyitch, so that his story came,
  not as his own surmise and theory, but as the direct confirmation, by a
  witness, of the theory held by all, as to the identity of the criminal (a
  theory he had in the bottom of his heart refused to believe till that
  moment).
  
  It was resolved to act with energy. The deputy police inspector of the
  town was commissioned to take four witnesses, to enter Fyodor Pavlovitch's
  house and there to open an inquiry on the spot, according to the regular
  forms, which I will not go into here. The district doctor, a zealous man,
  new to his work, almost insisted on accompanying the police captain, the
  prosecutor, and the investigating lawyer.
  
  I will note briefly that Fyodor Pavlovitch was found to be quite dead,
  with his skull battered in. But with what? Most likely with the same
  weapon with which Grigory had been attacked. And immediately that weapon
  was found, Grigory, to whom all possible medical assistance was at once
  given, described in a weak and breaking voice how he had been knocked
  down. They began looking with a lantern by the fence and found the brass
  pestle dropped in a most conspicuous place on the garden path. There were
  no signs of disturbance in the room where Fyodor Pavlovitch was lying. But
  by the bed, behind the screen, they picked up from the floor a big and
  thick envelope with the inscription: "A present of three thousand roubles
  for my angel Grushenka, if she is willing to come." And below had been
  added by Fyodor Pavlovitch, "For my little chicken." There were three
  seals of red sealing-wax on the envelope, but it had been torn open and
  was empty: the money had been removed. They found also on the floor a
  piece of narrow pink ribbon, with which the envelope had been tied up.
  
  One piece of Pyotr Ilyitch's evidence made a great impression on the
  prosecutor and the investigating magistrate, namely, his idea that Dmitri
  Fyodorovitch would shoot himself before daybreak, that he had resolved to
  do so, had spoken of it to Ilyitch, had taken the pistols, loaded them
  before him, written a letter, put it in his pocket, etc. When Pyotr
  Ilyitch, though still unwilling to believe in it, threatened to tell some
  one so as to prevent the suicide, Mitya had answered grinning: "You'll be
  too late." So they must make haste to Mokroe to find the criminal, before
  he really did shoot himself.
  
  "That's clear, that's clear!" repeated the prosecutor in great excitement.
  "That's just the way with mad fellows like that: 'I shall kill myself to-
  morrow, so I'll make merry till I die!' "
  
  The story of how he had bought the wine and provisions excited the
  prosecutor more than ever.
  
  "Do you remember the fellow that murdered a merchant called Olsufyev,
  gentlemen? He stole fifteen hundred, went at once to have his hair curled,
  and then, without even hiding the money, carrying it almost in his hand in
  the same way, he went off to the girls."
  
  All were delayed, however, by the inquiry, the search, and the
  formalities, etc., in the house of Fyodor Pavlovitch. It all took time and
  so, two hours before starting, they sent on ahead to Mokroe the officer of
  the rural police, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch Schmertsov, who had arrived in the
  town the morning before to get his pay. He was instructed to avoid raising
  the alarm when he reached Mokroe, but to keep constant watch over the
  "criminal" till the arrival of the proper authorities, to procure also
  witnesses for the arrest, police constables, and so on. Mavriky
  Mavrikyevitch did as he was told, preserving his incognito, and giving no
  one but his old acquaintance, Trifon Borissovitch, the slightest hint of
  his secret business. He had spoken to him just before Mitya met the
  landlord in the balcony, looking for him in the dark, and noticed at once
  a change in Trifon Borissovitch's face and voice. So neither Mitya nor any
  one else knew that he was being watched. The box with the pistols had been
  carried off by Trifon Borissovitch and put in a suitable place. Only after
  four o'clock, almost at sunrise, all the officials, the police captain,
  the prosecutor, the investigating lawyer, drove up in two carriages, each
  drawn by three horses. The doctor remained at Fyodor Pavlovitch's to make
  a post-mortem next day on the body. But he was particularly interested in
  the condition of the servant, Smerdyakov.
  
  "Such violent and protracted epileptic fits, recurring continually for
  twenty-four hours, are rarely to be met with, and are of interest to
  science," he declared enthusiastically to his companions, and as they left
  they laughingly congratulated him on his find. The prosecutor and the
  investigating lawyer distinctly remembered the doctor's saying that
  Smerdyakov could not outlive the night.
  
  After these long, but I think necessary explanations, we will return to
  that moment of our tale at which we broke off.
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: book 9, Chapter 2
target: The Alarm Perkhotin goes to tell the police about his fear, but he finds that the station is already a hubbub of activity. Grigory's wife has made another report to the police. Fyodor Pavlovich has been murdered