feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Brothers Karamazov/section_11_part_6.txt
feat_book_id: The Brothers Karamazov.book 9.chapter 6
feat_summary_id: book 9, chapter 6
feat_summary: {"name": "book 9, Chapter 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210305110438/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/brothersk/section12/", "summary": "The Prosecutor Catches Mitya The officers search Dmitri's clothes and find that they are stained with blood. After the officers take his clothing as evidence, Dmitri becomes enraged with the prosecutors", "analysis": ""}
text: Chapter VI. The Prosecutor Catches Mitya
  
  
  Something utterly unexpected and amazing to Mitya followed. He could
  never, even a minute before, have conceived that any one could behave like
  that to him, Mitya Karamazov. What was worst of all, there was something
  humiliating in it, and on their side something "supercilious and
  scornful." It was nothing to take off his coat, but he was asked to
  undress further, or rather not asked but "commanded," he quite understood
  that. From pride and contempt he submitted without a word. Several
  peasants accompanied the lawyers and remained on the same side of the
  curtain. "To be ready if force is required," thought Mitya, "and perhaps
  for some other reason, too."
  
  "Well, must I take off my shirt, too?" he asked sharply, but Nikolay
  Parfenovitch did not answer. He was busily engaged with the prosecutor in
  examining the coat, the trousers, the waistcoat and the cap; and it was
  evident that they were both much interested in the scrutiny. "They make no
  bones about it," thought Mitya, "they don't keep up the most elementary
  politeness."
  
  "I ask you for the second time--need I take off my shirt or not?" he said,
  still more sharply and irritably.
  
  "Don't trouble yourself. We will tell you what to do," Nikolay
  Parfenovitch said, and his voice was positively peremptory, or so it
  seemed to Mitya.
  
  Meantime a consultation was going on in undertones between the lawyers.
  There turned out to be on the coat, especially on the left side at the
  back, a huge patch of blood, dry, and still stiff. There were bloodstains
  on the trousers, too. Nikolay Parfenovitch, moreover, in the presence of
  the peasant witnesses, passed his fingers along the collar, the cuffs, and
  all the seams of the coat and trousers, obviously looking for
  something--money, of course. He didn't even hide from Mitya his suspicion
  that he was capable of sewing money up in his clothes.
  
  "He treats me not as an officer but as a thief," Mitya muttered to
  himself. They communicated their ideas to one another with amazing
  frankness. The secretary, for instance, who was also behind the curtain,
  fussing about and listening, called Nikolay Parfenovitch's attention to
  the cap, which they were also fingering.
  
  "You remember Gridyenko, the copying-clerk," observed the secretary. "Last
  summer he received the wages of the whole office, and pretended to have
  lost the money when he was drunk. And where was it found? Why, in just
  such pipings in his cap. The hundred-rouble notes were screwed up in
  little rolls and sewed in the piping."
  
  Both the lawyers remembered Gridyenko's case perfectly, and so laid aside
  Mitya's cap, and decided that all his clothes must be more thoroughly
  examined later.
  
  "Excuse me," cried Nikolay Parfenovitch, suddenly, noticing that the right
  cuff of Mitya's shirt was turned in, and covered with blood, "excuse me,
  what's that, blood?"
  
  "Yes," Mitya jerked out.
  
  "That is, what blood? ... and why is the cuff turned in?"
  
  Mitya told him how he had got the sleeve stained with blood looking after
  Grigory, and had turned it inside when he was washing his hands at
  Perhotin's.
  
  "You must take off your shirt, too. That's very important as material
  evidence."
  
  Mitya flushed red and flew into a rage.
  
  "What, am I to stay naked?" he shouted.
  
  "Don't disturb yourself. We will arrange something. And meanwhile take off
  your socks."
  
  "You're not joking? Is that really necessary?" Mitya's eyes flashed.
  
  "We are in no mood for joking," answered Nikolay Parfenovitch sternly.
  
  "Well, if I must--" muttered Mitya, and sitting down on the bed, he took
  off his socks. He felt unbearably awkward. All were clothed, while he was
  naked, and strange to say, when he was undressed he felt somehow guilty in
  their presence, and was almost ready to believe himself that he was
  inferior to them, and that now they had a perfect right to despise him.
  
  "When all are undressed, one is somehow not ashamed, but when one's the
  only one undressed and everybody is looking, it's degrading," he kept
  repeating to himself, again and again. "It's like a dream, I've sometimes
  dreamed of being in such degrading positions." It was a misery to him to
  take off his socks. They were very dirty, and so were his underclothes,
  and now every one could see it. And what was worse, he disliked his feet.
  All his life he had thought both his big toes hideous. He particularly
  loathed the coarse, flat, crooked nail on the right one, and now they
  would all see it. Feeling intolerably ashamed made him, at once and
  intentionally, rougher. He pulled off his shirt, himself.
  
  "Would you like to look anywhere else if you're not ashamed to?"
  
  "No, there's no need to, at present."
  
  "Well, am I to stay naked like this?" he added savagely.
  
  "Yes, that can't be helped for the time.... Kindly sit down here for a
  while. You can wrap yourself in a quilt from the bed, and I ... I'll see
  to all this."
  
  All the things were shown to the witnesses. The report of the search was
  drawn up, and at last Nikolay Parfenovitch went out, and the clothes were
  carried out after him. Ippolit Kirillovitch went out, too. Mitya was left
  alone with the peasants, who stood in silence, never taking their eyes off
  him. Mitya wrapped himself up in the quilt. He felt cold. His bare feet
  stuck out, and he couldn't pull the quilt over so as to cover them.
  Nikolay Parfenovitch seemed to be gone a long time, "an insufferable
  time." "He thinks of me as a puppy," thought Mitya, gnashing his teeth.
  "That rotten prosecutor has gone, too, contemptuous no doubt, it disgusts
  him to see me naked!"
  
  Mitya imagined, however, that his clothes would be examined and returned
  to him. But what was his indignation when Nikolay Parfenovitch came back
  with quite different clothes, brought in behind him by a peasant.
  
  "Here are clothes for you," he observed airily, seeming well satisfied
  with the success of his mission. "Mr. Kalganov has kindly provided these
  for this unusual emergency, as well as a clean shirt. Luckily he had them
  all in his trunk. You can keep your own socks and underclothes."
  
  Mitya flew into a passion.
  
  "I won't have other people's clothes!" he shouted menacingly, "give me my
  own!"
  
  "It's impossible!"
  
  "Give me my own. Damn Kalganov and his clothes, too!"
  
  It was a long time before they could persuade him. But they succeeded
  somehow in quieting him down. They impressed upon him that his clothes,
  being stained with blood, must be "included with the other material
  evidence," and that they "had not even the right to let him have them now
  ... taking into consideration the possible outcome of the case." Mitya at
  last understood this. He subsided into gloomy silence and hurriedly
  dressed himself. He merely observed, as he put them on, that the clothes
  were much better than his old ones, and that he disliked "gaining by the
  change." The coat was, besides, "ridiculously tight. Am I to be dressed up
  like a fool ... for your amusement?"
  
  They urged upon him again that he was exaggerating, that Kalganov was only
  a little taller, so that only the trousers might be a little too long. But
  the coat turned out to be really tight in the shoulders.
  
  "Damn it all! I can hardly button it," Mitya grumbled. "Be so good as to
  tell Mr. Kalganov from me that I didn't ask for his clothes, and it's not
  my doing that they've dressed me up like a clown."
  
  "He understands that, and is sorry ... I mean, not sorry to lend you his
  clothes, but sorry about all this business," mumbled Nikolay Parfenovitch.
  
  "Confound his sorrow! Well, where now? Am I to go on sitting here?"
  
  He was asked to go back to the "other room." Mitya went in, scowling with
  anger, and trying to avoid looking at any one. Dressed in another man's
  clothes he felt himself disgraced, even in the eyes of the peasants, and
  of Trifon Borissovitch, whose face appeared, for some reason, in the
  doorway, and vanished immediately. "He's come to look at me dressed up,"
  thought Mitya. He sat down on the same chair as before. He had an absurd
  nightmarish feeling, as though he were out of his mind.
  
  "Well, what now? Are you going to flog me? That's all that's left for
  you," he said, clenching his teeth and addressing the prosecutor. He would
  not turn to Nikolay Parfenovitch, as though he disdained to speak to him.
  
  "He looked too closely at my socks, and turned them inside out on purpose
  to show every one how dirty they were--the scoundrel!"
  
  "Well, now we must proceed to the examination of witnesses," observed
  Nikolay Parfenovitch, as though in reply to Mitya's question.
  
  "Yes," said the prosecutor thoughtfully, as though reflecting on
  something.
  
  "We've done what we could in your interest, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," Nikolay
  Parfenovitch went on, "but having received from you such an uncompromising
  refusal to explain to us the source from which you obtained the money
  found upon you, we are, at the present moment--"
  
  "What is the stone in your ring?" Mitya interrupted suddenly, as though
  awakening from a reverie. He pointed to one of the three large rings
  adorning Nikolay Parfenovitch's right hand.
  
  "Ring?" repeated Nikolay Parfenovitch with surprise.
  
  "Yes, that one ... on your middle finger, with the little veins in it,
  what stone is that?" Mitya persisted, like a peevish child.
  
  "That's a smoky topaz," said Nikolay Parfenovitch, smiling. "Would you
  like to look at it? I'll take it off ..."
  
  "No, don't take it off," cried Mitya furiously, suddenly waking up, and
  angry with himself. "Don't take it off ... there's no need.... Damn it!...
  Gentlemen, you've sullied my heart! Can you suppose that I would conceal
  it from you, if I had really killed my father, that I would shuffle, lie,
  and hide myself? No, that's not like Dmitri Karamazov, that he couldn't
  do, and if I were guilty, I swear I shouldn't have waited for your coming,
  or for the sunrise as I meant at first, but should have killed myself
  before this, without waiting for the dawn! I know that about myself now. I
  couldn't have learnt so much in twenty years as I've found out in this
  accursed night!... And should I have been like this on this night, and at
  this moment, sitting with you, could I have talked like this, could I have
  moved like this, could I have looked at you and at the world like this, if
  I had really been the murderer of my father, when the very thought of
  having accidentally killed Grigory gave me no peace all night--not from
  fear--oh, not simply from fear of your punishment! The disgrace of it! And
  you expect me to be open with such scoffers as you, who see nothing and
  believe in nothing, blind moles and scoffers, and to tell you another
  nasty thing I've done, another disgrace, even if that would save me from
  your accusation! No, better Siberia! The man who opened the door to my
  father and went in at that door, he killed him, he robbed him. Who was he?
  I'm racking my brains and can't think who. But I can tell you it was not
  Dmitri Karamazov, and that's all I can tell you, and that's enough,
  enough, leave me alone.... Exile me, punish me, but don't bother me any
  more. I'll say no more. Call your witnesses!"
  
  Mitya uttered his sudden monologue as though he were determined to be
  absolutely silent for the future. The prosecutor watched him the whole
  time and only when he had ceased speaking, observed, as though it were the
  most ordinary thing, with the most frigid and composed air:
  
  "Oh, about the open door of which you spoke just now, we may as well
  inform you, by the way, now, of a very interesting piece of evidence of
  the greatest importance both to you and to us, that has been given us by
  Grigory, the old man you wounded. On his recovery, he clearly and
  emphatically stated, in reply to our questions, that when, on coming out
  to the steps, and hearing a noise in the garden, he made up his mind to go
  into it through the little gate which stood open, before he noticed you
  running, as you have told us already, in the dark from the open window
  where you saw your father, he, Grigory, glanced to the left, and, while
  noticing the open window, observed at the same time, much nearer to him,
  the door, standing wide open--that door which you have stated to have been
  shut the whole time you were in the garden. I will not conceal from you
  that Grigory himself confidently affirms and bears witness that you must
  have run from that door, though, of course, he did not see you do so with
  his own eyes, since he only noticed you first some distance away in the
  garden, running towards the fence."
  
  Mitya had leapt up from his chair half-way through this speech.
  
  "Nonsense!" he yelled, in a sudden frenzy, "it's a barefaced lie. He
  couldn't have seen the door open because it was shut. He's lying!"
  
  "I consider it my duty to repeat that he is firm in his statement. He does
  not waver. He adheres to it. We've cross-examined him several times."
  
  "Precisely. I have cross-examined him several times," Nikolay Parfenovitch
  confirmed warmly.
  
  "It's false, false! It's either an attempt to slander me, or the
  hallucination of a madman," Mitya still shouted. "He's simply raving, from
  loss of blood, from the wound. He must have fancied it when he came to....
  He's raving."
  
  "Yes, but he noticed the open door, not when he came to after his
  injuries, but before that, as soon as he went into the garden from the
  lodge."
  
  "But it's false, it's false! It can't be so! He's slandering me from
  spite.... He couldn't have seen it ... I didn't come from the door,"
  gasped Mitya.
  
  The prosecutor turned to Nikolay Parfenovitch and said to him
  impressively:
  
  "Confront him with it."
  
  "Do you recognize this object?"
  
  Nikolay Parfenovitch laid upon the table a large and thick official
  envelope, on which three seals still remained intact. The envelope was
  empty, and slit open at one end. Mitya stared at it with open eyes.
  
  "It ... it must be that envelope of my father's, the envelope that
  contained the three thousand roubles ... and if there's inscribed on it,
  allow me, 'For my little chicken' ... yes--three thousand!" he shouted, "do
  you see, three thousand, do you see?"
  
  "Of course, we see. But we didn't find the money in it. It was empty, and
  lying on the floor by the bed, behind the screen."
  
  For some seconds Mitya stood as though thunderstruck.
  
  "Gentlemen, it's Smerdyakov!" he shouted suddenly, at the top of his
  voice. "It's he who's murdered him! He's robbed him! No one else knew
  where the old man hid the envelope. It's Smerdyakov, that's clear, now!"
  
  "But you, too, knew of the envelope and that it was under the pillow."
  
  "I never knew it. I've never seen it. This is the first time I've looked
  at it. I'd only heard of it from Smerdyakov.... He was the only one who
  knew where the old man kept it hidden, I didn't know ..." Mitya was
  completely breathless.
  
  "But you told us yourself that the envelope was under your deceased
  father's pillow. You especially stated that it was under the pillow, so
  you must have known it."
  
  "We've got it written down," confirmed Nikolay Parfenovitch.
  
  "Nonsense! It's absurd! I'd no idea it was under the pillow. And perhaps
  it wasn't under the pillow at all.... It was just a chance guess that it
  was under the pillow. What does Smerdyakov say? Have you asked him where
  it was? What does Smerdyakov say? that's the chief point.... And I went
  out of my way to tell lies against myself.... I told you without thinking
  that it was under the pillow, and now you-- Oh, you know how one says the
  wrong thing, without meaning it. No one knew but Smerdyakov, only
  Smerdyakov, and no one else.... He didn't even tell me where it was! But
  it's his doing, his doing; there's no doubt about it, he murdered him,
  that's as clear as daylight now," Mitya exclaimed more and more
  frantically, repeating himself incoherently, and growing more and more
  exasperated and excited. "You must understand that, and arrest him at
  once.... He must have killed him while I was running away and while
  Grigory was unconscious, that's clear now.... He gave the signal and
  father opened to him ... for no one but he knew the signal, and without
  the signal father would never have opened the door...."
  
  "But you're again forgetting the circumstance," the prosecutor observed,
  still speaking with the same restraint, though with a note of triumph,
  "that there was no need to give the signal if the door already stood open
  when you were there, while you were in the garden...."
  
  "The door, the door," muttered Mitya, and he stared speechless at the
  prosecutor. He sank back helpless in his chair. All were silent.
  
  "Yes, the door!... It's a nightmare! God is against me!" he exclaimed,
  staring before him in complete stupefaction.
  
  "Come, you see," the prosecutor went on with dignity, "and you can judge
  for yourself, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. On the one hand we have the evidence of
  the open door from which you ran out, a fact which overwhelms you and us.
  On the other side your incomprehensible, persistent, and, so to speak,
  obdurate silence with regard to the source from which you obtained the
  money which was so suddenly seen in your hands, when only three hours
  earlier, on your own showing, you pledged your pistols for the sake of ten
  roubles! In view of all these facts, judge for yourself. What are we to
  believe, and what can we depend upon? And don't accuse us of being
  'frigid, cynical, scoffing people,' who are incapable of believing in the
  generous impulses of your heart.... Try to enter into our position ..."
  
  Mitya was indescribably agitated. He turned pale.
  
  "Very well!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I will tell you my secret. I'll tell
  you where I got the money!... I'll reveal my shame, that I may not have to
  blame myself or you hereafter."
  
  "And believe me, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," put in Nikolay Parfenovitch, in a
  voice of almost pathetic delight, "that every sincere and complete
  confession on your part at this moment may, later on, have an immense
  influence in your favor, and may, indeed, moreover--"
  
  But the prosecutor gave him a slight shove under the table, and he checked
  himself in time. Mitya, it is true, had not heard him.
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: book 9, Chapter 6
target: The Prosecutor Catches Mitya The officers search Dmitri's clothes and find that they are stained with blood. After the officers take his clothing as evidence, Dmitri becomes enraged with the prosecutors