feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Brothers Karamazov/section_11_part_8.txt
feat_book_id: The Brothers Karamazov.book 9.chapter 8
feat_summary_id: book 9, chapter 8
feat_summary: {"name": "book 9, Chapter 8", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210305110438/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/brothersk/section12/", "summary": "The Evidence of the Witnesses. The Wee One The problem is that Dmitri has always told people that he spent the entire 3,000 rubles on Grushenka, and the prosecution is now able to produce several witnesses who say that he told them he needed the full 3,000 rubles to repay Katerina", "analysis": ""}
text: Chapter VIII. The Evidence Of The Witnesses. The Babe
  
  
  The examination of the witnesses began. But we will not continue our story
  in such detail as before. And so we will not dwell on how Nikolay
  Parfenovitch impressed on every witness called that he must give his
  evidence in accordance with truth and conscience, and that he would
  afterwards have to repeat his evidence on oath, how every witness was
  called upon to sign the protocol of his evidence, and so on. We will only
  note that the point principally insisted upon in the examination was the
  question of the three thousand roubles, that is, was the sum spent here,
  at Mokroe, by Mitya on the first occasion, a month before, three thousand
  or fifteen hundred? And again had he spent three thousand or fifteen
  hundred yesterday? Alas, all the evidence given by every one turned out to
  be against Mitya. There was not one in his favor, and some witnesses
  introduced new, almost crushing facts, in contradiction of his, Mitya's,
  story.
  
  The first witness examined was Trifon Borissovitch. He was not in the
  least abashed as he stood before the lawyers. He had, on the contrary, an
  air of stern and severe indignation with the accused, which gave him an
  appearance of truthfulness and personal dignity. He spoke little, and with
  reserve, waited to be questioned, answered precisely and deliberately.
  Firmly and unhesitatingly he bore witness that the sum spent a month
  before could not have been less than three thousand, that all the peasants
  about here would testify that they had heard the sum of three thousand
  mentioned by Dmitri Fyodorovitch himself. "What a lot of money he flung
  away on the gypsy girls alone! He wasted a thousand, I daresay, on them
  alone."
  
  "I don't believe I gave them five hundred," was Mitya's gloomy comment on
  this. "It's a pity I didn't count the money at the time, but I was
  drunk...."
  
  Mitya was sitting sideways with his back to the curtains. He listened
  gloomily, with a melancholy and exhausted air, as though he would say:
  
  "Oh, say what you like. It makes no difference now."
  
  "More than a thousand went on them, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," retorted Trifon
  Borissovitch firmly. "You flung it about at random and they picked it up.
  They were a rascally, thievish lot, horse-stealers, they've been driven
  away from here, or maybe they'd bear witness themselves how much they got
  from you. I saw the sum in your hands, myself--count it I didn't, you
  didn't let me, that's true enough--but by the look of it I should say it
  was far more than fifteen hundred ... fifteen hundred, indeed! We've seen
  money too. We can judge of amounts...."
  
  As for the sum spent yesterday he asserted that Dmitri Fyodorovitch had
  told him, as soon as he arrived, that he had brought three thousand with
  him.
  
  "Come now, is that so, Trifon Borissovitch?" replied Mitya. "Surely I
  didn't declare so positively that I'd brought three thousand?"
  
  "You did say so, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. You said it before Andrey. Andrey
  himself is still here. Send for him. And in the hall, when you were
  treating the chorus, you shouted straight out that you would leave your
  sixth thousand here--that is with what you spent before, we must
  understand. Stepan and Semyon heard it, and Pyotr Fomitch Kalganov, too,
  was standing beside you at the time. Maybe he'd remember it...."
  
  The evidence as to the "sixth" thousand made an extraordinary impression
  on the two lawyers. They were delighted with this new mode of reckoning;
  three and three made six, three thousand then and three now made six, that
  was clear.
  
  They questioned all the peasants suggested by Trifon Borissovitch, Stepan
  and Semyon, the driver Andrey, and Kalganov. The peasants and the driver
  unhesitatingly confirmed Trifon Borissovitch's evidence. They noted down,
  with particular care, Andrey's account of the conversation he had had with
  Mitya on the road: " 'Where,' says he, 'am I, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, going,
  to heaven or to hell, and shall I be forgiven in the next world or not?' "
  
  The psychological Ippolit Kirillovitch heard this with a subtle smile, and
  ended by recommending that these remarks as to where Dmitri Fyodorovitch
  would go should be "included in the case."
  
  Kalganov, when called, came in reluctantly, frowning and ill-humored, and
  he spoke to the lawyers as though he had never met them before in his
  life, though they were acquaintances whom he had been meeting every day
  for a long time past. He began by saying that "he knew nothing about it
  and didn't want to." But it appeared that he had heard of the "sixth"
  thousand, and he admitted that he had been standing close by at the
  moment. As far as he could see he "didn't know" how much money Mitya had
  in his hands. He affirmed that the Poles had cheated at cards. In reply to
  reiterated questions he stated that, after the Poles had been turned out,
  Mitya's position with Agrafena Alexandrovna had certainly improved, and
  that she had said that she loved him. He spoke of Agrafena Alexandrovna
  with reserve and respect, as though she had been a lady of the best
  society, and did not once allow himself to call her Grushenka. In spite of
  the young man's obvious repugnance at giving evidence, Ippolit
  Kirillovitch examined him at great length, and only from him learnt all
  the details of what made up Mitya's "romance," so to say, on that night.
  Mitya did not once pull Kalganov up. At last they let the young man go,
  and he left the room with unconcealed indignation.
  
  The Poles, too, were examined. Though they had gone to bed in their room,
  they had not slept all night, and on the arrival of the police officers
  they hastily dressed and got ready, realizing that they would certainly be
  sent for. They gave their evidence with dignity, though not without some
  uneasiness. The little Pole turned out to be a retired official of the
  twelfth class, who had served in Siberia as a veterinary surgeon. His name
  was Mussyalovitch. Pan Vrublevsky turned out to be an uncertificated
  dentist. Although Nikolay Parfenovitch asked them questions on entering
  the room they both addressed their answers to Mihail Makarovitch, who was
  standing on one side, taking him in their ignorance for the most important
  person and in command, and addressed him at every word as "Pan Colonel."
  Only after several reproofs from Mihail Makarovitch himself, they grasped
  that they had to address their answers to Nikolay Parfenovitch only. It
  turned out that they could speak Russian quite correctly except for their
  accent in some words. Of his relations with Grushenka, past and present,
  Pan Mussyalovitch spoke proudly and warmly, so that Mitya was roused at
  once and declared that he would not allow the "scoundrel" to speak like
  that in his presence! Pan Mussyalovitch at once called attention to the
  word "scoundrel" and begged that it should be put down in the protocol.
  Mitya fumed with rage.
  
  "He's a scoundrel! A scoundrel! You can put that down. And put down, too,
  that, in spite of the protocol I still declare that he's a scoundrel!" he
  cried.
  
  Though Nikolay Parfenovitch did insert this in the protocol, he showed the
  most praiseworthy tact and management. After sternly reprimanding Mitya,
  he cut short all further inquiry into the romantic aspect of the case, and
  hastened to pass to what was essential. One piece of evidence given by the
  Poles roused special interest in the lawyers: that was how, in that very
  room, Mitya had tried to buy off Pan Mussyalovitch, and had offered him
  three thousand roubles to resign his claims, seven hundred roubles down,
  and the remaining two thousand three hundred "to be paid next day in the
  town." He had sworn at the time that he had not the whole sum with him at
  Mokroe, but that his money was in the town. Mitya observed hotly that he
  had not said that he would be sure to pay him the remainder next day in
  the town. But Pan Vrublevsky confirmed the statement, and Mitya, after
  thinking for a moment admitted, frowning, that it must have been as the
  Poles stated, that he had been excited at the time, and might indeed have
  said so.
  
  The prosecutor positively pounced on this piece of evidence. It seemed to
  establish for the prosecution (and they did, in fact, base this deduction
  on it) that half, or a part of, the three thousand that had come into
  Mitya's hands might really have been left somewhere hidden in the town, or
  even, perhaps, somewhere here, in Mokroe. This would explain the
  circumstance, so baffling for the prosecution, that only eight hundred
  roubles were to be found in Mitya's hands. This circumstance had been the
  one piece of evidence which, insignificant as it was, had hitherto told,
  to some extent, in Mitya's favor. Now this one piece of evidence in his
  favor had broken down. In answer to the prosecutor's inquiry, where he
  would have got the remaining two thousand three hundred roubles, since he
  himself had denied having more than fifteen hundred, Mitya confidently
  replied that he had meant to offer the "little chap," not money, but a
  formal deed of conveyance of his rights to the village of Tchermashnya,
  those rights which he had already offered to Samsonov and Madame Hohlakov.
  The prosecutor positively smiled at the "innocence of this subterfuge."
  
  "And you imagine he would have accepted such a deed as a substitute for
  two thousand three hundred roubles in cash?"
  
  "He certainly would have accepted it," Mitya declared warmly. "Why, look
  here, he might have grabbed not two thousand, but four or six, for it. He
  would have put his lawyers, Poles and Jews, on to the job, and might have
  got, not three thousand, but the whole property out of the old man."
  
  The evidence of Pan Mussyalovitch was, of course, entered in the protocol
  in the fullest detail. Then they let the Poles go. The incident of the
  cheating at cards was hardly touched upon. Nikolay Parfenovitch was too
  well pleased with them, as it was, and did not want to worry them with
  trifles, moreover, it was nothing but a foolish, drunken quarrel over
  cards. There had been drinking and disorder enough, that night.... So the
  two hundred roubles remained in the pockets of the Poles.
  
  Then old Maximov was summoned. He came in timidly, approached with little
  steps, looking very disheveled and depressed. He had, all this time, taken
  refuge below with Grushenka, sitting dumbly beside her, and "now and then
  he'd begin blubbering over her and wiping his eyes with a blue check
  handkerchief," as Mihail Makarovitch described afterwards. So that she
  herself began trying to pacify and comfort him. The old man at once
  confessed that he had done wrong, that he had borrowed "ten roubles in my
  poverty," from Dmitri Fyodorovitch, and that he was ready to pay it back.
  To Nikolay Parfenovitch's direct question, had he noticed how much money
  Dmitri Fyodorovitch held in his hand, as he must have been able to see the
  sum better than any one when he took the note from him, Maximov, in the
  most positive manner, declared that there was twenty thousand.
  
  "Have you ever seen so much as twenty thousand before, then?" inquired
  Nikolay Parfenovitch, with a smile.
  
  "To be sure I have, not twenty, but seven, when my wife mortgaged my
  little property. She'd only let me look at it from a distance, boasting of
  it to me. It was a very thick bundle, all rainbow-colored notes. And
  Dmitri Fyodorovitch's were all rainbow-colored...."
  
  He was not kept long. At last it was Grushenka's turn. Nikolay
  Parfenovitch was obviously apprehensive of the effect her appearance might
  have on Mitya, and he muttered a few words of admonition to him, but Mitya
  bowed his head in silence, giving him to understand "that he would not
  make a scene." Mihail Makarovitch himself led Grushenka in. She entered
  with a stern and gloomy face, that looked almost composed and sat down
  quietly on the chair offered her by Nikolay Parfenovitch. She was very
  pale, she seemed to be cold, and wrapped herself closely in her
  magnificent black shawl. She was suffering from a slight feverish
  chill--the first symptom of the long illness which followed that night. Her
  grave air, her direct earnest look and quiet manner made a very favorable
  impression on every one. Nikolay Parfenovitch was even a little bit
  "fascinated." He admitted himself, when talking about it afterwards, that
  only then had he seen "how handsome the woman was," for, though he had
  seen her several times before, he had always looked upon her as something
  of a "provincial hetaira." "She has the manners of the best society," he
  said enthusiastically, gossiping about her in a circle of ladies. But this
  was received with positive indignation by the ladies, who immediately
  called him a "naughty man," to his great satisfaction.
  
  As she entered the room, Grushenka only glanced for an instant at Mitya,
  who looked at her uneasily. But her face reassured him at once. After the
  first inevitable inquiries and warnings, Nikolay Parfenovitch asked her,
  hesitating a little, but preserving the most courteous manner, on what
  terms she was with the retired lieutenant, Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov.
  To this Grushenka firmly and quietly replied:
  
  "He was an acquaintance. He came to see me as an acquaintance during the
  last month." To further inquisitive questions she answered plainly and
  with complete frankness, that, though "at times" she had thought him
  attractive, she had not loved him, but had won his heart as well as his
  old father's "in my nasty spite," that she had seen that Mitya was very
  jealous of Fyodor Pavlovitch and every one else; but that had only amused
  her. She had never meant to go to Fyodor Pavlovitch, she had simply been
  laughing at him. "I had no thoughts for either of them all this last
  month. I was expecting another man who had wronged me. But I think," she
  said in conclusion, "that there's no need for you to inquire about that,
  nor for me to answer you, for that's my own affair."
  
  Nikolay Parfenovitch immediately acted upon this hint. He again dismissed
  the "romantic" aspect of the case and passed to the serious one, that is,
  to the question of most importance, concerning the three thousand roubles.
  Grushenka confirmed the statement that three thousand roubles had
  certainly been spent on the first carousal at Mokroe, and, though she had
  not counted the money herself, she had heard that it was three thousand
  from Dmitri Fyodorovitch's own lips.
  
  "Did he tell you that alone, or before some one else, or did you only hear
  him speak of it to others in your presence?" the prosecutor inquired
  immediately.
  
  To which Grushenka replied that she had heard him say so before other
  people, and had heard him say so when they were alone.
  
  "Did he say it to you alone once, or several times?" inquired the
  prosecutor, and learned that he had told Grushenka so several times.
  
  Ippolit Kirillovitch was very well satisfied with this piece of evidence.
  Further examination elicited that Grushenka knew, too, where that money
  had come from, and that Dmitri Fyodorovitch had got it from Katerina
  Ivanovna.
  
  "And did you never, once, hear that the money spent a month ago was not
  three thousand, but less, and that Dmitri Fyodorovitch had saved half that
  sum for his own use?"
  
  "No, I never heard that," answered Grushenka.
  
  It was explained further that Mitya had, on the contrary, often told her
  that he hadn't a farthing.
  
  "He was always expecting to get some from his father," said Grushenka in
  conclusion.
  
  "Did he never say before you ... casually, or in a moment of irritation,"
  Nikolay Parfenovitch put in suddenly, "that he intended to make an attempt
  on his father's life?"
  
  "Ach, he did say so," sighed Grushenka.
  
  "Once or several times?"
  
  "He mentioned it several times, always in anger."
  
  "And did you believe he would do it?"
  
  "No, I never believed it," she answered firmly. "I had faith in his noble
  heart."
  
  "Gentlemen, allow me," cried Mitya suddenly, "allow me to say one word to
  Agrafena Alexandrovna, in your presence."
  
  "You can speak," Nikolay Parfenovitch assented.
  
  "Agrafena Alexandrovna!" Mitya got up from his chair, "have faith in God
  and in me. I am not guilty of my father's murder!"
  
  Having uttered these words Mitya sat down again on his chair. Grushenka
  stood up and crossed herself devoutly before the ikon. "Thanks be to Thee,
  O Lord," she said, in a voice thrilled with emotion, and still standing,
  she turned to Nikolay Parfenovitch and added:
  
  "As he has spoken now, believe it! I know him. He'll say anything as a
  joke or from obstinacy, but he'll never deceive you against his
  conscience. He's telling the whole truth, you may believe it."
  
  "Thanks, Agrafena Alexandrovna, you've given me fresh courage," Mitya
  responded in a quivering voice.
  
  As to the money spent the previous day, she declared that she did not know
  what sum it was, but had heard him tell several people that he had three
  thousand with him. And to the question where he got the money, she said
  that he had told her that he had "stolen" it from Katerina Ivanovna, and
  that she had replied to that that he hadn't stolen it, and that he must
  pay the money back next day. On the prosecutor's asking her emphatically
  whether the money he said he had stolen from Katerina Ivanovna was what he
  had spent yesterday, or what he had squandered here a month ago, she
  declared that he meant the money spent a month ago, and that that was how
  she understood him.
  
  Grushenka was at last released, and Nikolay Parfenovitch informed her
  impulsively that she might at once return to the town and that if he could
  be of any assistance to her, with horses for example, or if she would care
  for an escort, he ... would be--
  
  "I thank you sincerely," said Grushenka, bowing to him, "I'm going with
  this old gentleman, I am driving him back to town with me, and meanwhile,
  if you'll allow me, I'll wait below to hear what you decide about Dmitri
  Fyodorovitch."
  
  She went out. Mitya was calm, and even looked more cheerful, but only for
  a moment. He felt more and more oppressed by a strange physical weakness.
  His eyes were closing with fatigue. The examination of the witnesses was,
  at last, over. They proceeded to a final revision of the protocol. Mitya
  got up, moved from his chair to the corner by the curtain, lay down on a
  large chest covered with a rug, and instantly fell asleep.
  
  He had a strange dream, utterly out of keeping with the place and the
  time.
  
  He was driving somewhere in the steppes, where he had been stationed long
  ago, and a peasant was driving him in a cart with a pair of horses,
  through snow and sleet. He was cold, it was early in November, and the
  snow was falling in big wet flakes, melting as soon as it touched the
  earth. And the peasant drove him smartly, he had a fair, long beard. He
  was not an old man, somewhere about fifty, and he had on a gray peasant's
  smock. Not far off was a village, he could see the black huts, and half
  the huts were burnt down, there were only the charred beams sticking up.
  And as they drove in, there were peasant women drawn up along the road, a
  lot of women, a whole row, all thin and wan, with their faces a sort of
  brownish color, especially one at the edge, a tall, bony woman, who looked
  forty, but might have been only twenty, with a long thin face. And in her
  arms was a little baby crying. And her breasts seemed so dried up that
  there was not a drop of milk in them. And the child cried and cried, and
  held out its little bare arms, with its little fists blue from cold.
  
  "Why are they crying? Why are they crying?" Mitya asked, as they dashed
  gayly by.
  
  "It's the babe," answered the driver, "the babe weeping."
  
  And Mitya was struck by his saying, in his peasant way, "the babe," and he
  liked the peasant's calling it a "babe." There seemed more pity in it.
  
  "But why is it weeping?" Mitya persisted stupidly, "why are its little
  arms bare? Why don't they wrap it up?"
  
  "The babe's cold, its little clothes are frozen and don't warm it."
  
  "But why is it? Why?" foolish Mitya still persisted.
  
  "Why, they're poor people, burnt out. They've no bread. They're begging
  because they've been burnt out."
  
  "No, no," Mitya, as it were, still did not understand. "Tell me why it is
  those poor mothers stand there? Why are people poor? Why is the babe poor?
  Why is the steppe barren? Why don't they hug each other and kiss? Why
  don't they sing songs of joy? Why are they so dark from black misery? Why
  don't they feed the babe?"
  
  And he felt that, though his questions were unreasonable and senseless,
  yet he wanted to ask just that, and he had to ask it just in that way. And
  he felt that a passion of pity, such as he had never known before, was
  rising in his heart, that he wanted to cry, that he wanted to do something
  for them all, so that the babe should weep no more, so that the dark-
  faced, dried-up mother should not weep, that no one should shed tears
  again from that moment, and he wanted to do it at once, at once,
  regardless of all obstacles, with all the recklessness of the Karamazovs.
  
  "And I'm coming with you. I won't leave you now for the rest of my life,
  I'm coming with you," he heard close beside him Grushenka's tender voice,
  thrilling with emotion. And his heart glowed, and he struggled forward
  towards the light, and he longed to live, to live, to go on and on,
  towards the new, beckoning light, and to hasten, hasten, now, at once!
  
  "What! Where?" he exclaimed opening his eyes, and sitting up on the chest,
  as though he had revived from a swoon, smiling brightly. Nikolay
  Parfenovitch was standing over him, suggesting that he should hear the
  protocol read aloud and sign it. Mitya guessed that he had been asleep an
  hour or more, but he did not hear Nikolay Parfenovitch. He was suddenly
  struck by the fact that there was a pillow under his head, which hadn't
  been there when he had leant back, exhausted, on the chest.
  
  "Who put that pillow under my head? Who was so kind?" he cried, with a
  sort of ecstatic gratitude, and tears in his voice, as though some great
  kindness had been shown him.
  
  He never found out who this kind man was; perhaps one of the peasant
  witnesses, or Nikolay Parfenovitch's little secretary, had compassionately
  thought to put a pillow under his head; but his whole soul was quivering
  with tears. He went to the table and said that he would sign whatever they
  liked.
  
  "I've had a good dream, gentlemen," he said in a strange voice, with a new
  light, as of joy, in his face.
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: book 9, Chapter 8
target: The Evidence of the Witnesses. The Wee One The problem is that Dmitri has always told people that he spent the entire 3,000 rubles on Grushenka, and the prosecution is now able to produce several witnesses who say that he told them he needed the full 3,000 rubles to repay Katerina