"Yes, of course, I was expecting something and he is right..." And he remembered for the hundredth time how, on the last night in his father's 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, that's true! I wanted the murder, I did want the murder! Did I want the murder? Did I want it? Imust kill Smerdyakov! If I don't 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 couldn't 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 it's not Dmitri, but Smerdyakov who's the murderer, I share his guilt, for I put him up to it.Whether I did, I don't 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.It was the letter written by Mitya to Katerina Ivanovna when he was drunk, on the very evening he met Alyosha at the crossroads on the way to the monastery, after the scene at Katerina Ivanovna's, when Grushenka had insulted her.Then, parting from Alyosha, Mitya had rushed to Grushenka.I don't know whether he saw her, but in the evening he was at the Metropolis, where he got thoroughly drunk.Then he asked for pen and paper and wrote a document of weighty consequences to himself.It was a wordy, disconnected, frantic letter, a drunken letter, in fact.It was like the talk of a drunken man, who, on his return home, begins with extraordinary heat telling his wife or one of his household how he has just been insulted, what a rascal had just insulted him, what a fine fellow he is on the other hand, and how he will pay that scoundrel out; and all that at great length, with great excitement and incoherence, with drunken tears and blows on the table.The letter was written on a dirty piece of ordinary paper of the cheapest kind.It had been provided by the tavern and there were figures scrawled on the back of it.There was evidently not space enough for his drunken verbosity and Mitya not only filled the margins but had written the last line right across the rest.The letter ran as follows:
FATAL KATYA: To-morrow I will get the money and repay your three thousand and farewell, woman of great wrath, but farewell, too, my love! Let us make an end! To-morrow I shall try and get it from everyone, and if I can't borrow it, I give you my word of honour Ishall go to my father and break his skull and take the money from under the pillow, if only Ivan has gone.It I have to go to Siberia for it, I'll give you back your three thousand.And farewell.I bow down to the ground before you, for I've been a scoundrel to you.
Forgive me! No, better not forgive me, you'll be happier and so shall I! Better Siberia than your love, for I love another woman and you got to know her too well to-day, so how can you forgive? I will murder the man who's robbed me! I'll leave you all and go to the East so as to see no one again.Not her either, for you are not my only tormentress;she is too.Farewel!
P.S.- I write my curse, but I adore you! I hear it in my heart.
One string is left, and it vibrates.Better tear my heart in two! Ishall kill myself, but first of all that cur.I shall tear three thousand from him and fling it to you.Though I've been a scoundrel to you, I am not a thief! You can expect three thousand.The cur keeps it under his mattress, in pink ribbon.I am not a thief, but I'll murder my thief.Katya, don't look disdainful.Dmitri is not a thief! but a murderer! He has murdered his father and ruined himself to hold his ground, rather than endure your pride.And he doesn't love you.
P.P.S.- I kiss your feet, farewel!
P.P.P.S.- Katya, pray to God that someone'll give me the money.
Then I shall not be steeped in gore, and if no one does- I shall! Kill me!
Your slave and enemy, D.KARAMAZOV
When Ivan read this "document" he was convinced.So then it was his brother, not Smerdyakov.And if not Smerdyakov, then not he, Ivan.
This letter at once assumed in his eyes the aspect of a logical proof.
There could be no longer the slightest doubt of Mitya's guilt.The suspicion never occurred to Ivan, by the way, that Mitya might have committed the murder in conjunction with Smerdyakov, and, indeed, such a theory did not fit in with the facts.Ivan was completely reassured.
The next morning he only thought of Smerdyakov and his gibes with contempt.A few days later he positively wondered how he could have been so horribly distressed at his suspicions.He resolved to dismiss him with contempt and forget him.So passed a month.He made no further inquiry about Smerdyakov, but twice he happened to hear that he was very ill and out of his mind.
