"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 practise 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 realising 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 everyone 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 realised 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 Smerdyashtchaya!" 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.
