“Today I need terribly to get to see my brother in time,” Alyosha attempted to murmur.
“Precisely, precisely! You’ve reminded me of everything! Listen, what is a fit of passion?”
“A fit of passion?” Alyosha said in surprise. “A legal fit of passion. A fit of passion for which they forgive everything. Whatever you do—you’re immediately forgiven.”
“But what are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you: this Katya ... ah, she’s a dear, dear creature, only I can’t tell who she’s in love with. She was sitting here the other day, and I couldn’t get anything out of her. The more so as she’s begun talking to me so superficially now, in short, it’s all about my health and nothing more, and she even adopts such a tone, so I said to myself: well, never mind, God be with you ... Ah, yes, so about this fit of passion: the doctor has come. You do know that the doctor has come? But of course you know, the one who can recognize crazy people, you invited him yourself—that is, not you but Katya. It’s all Katya! So, look: a man sits there and he’s not crazy at all, only suddenly he has a fit of passion. He may be fully conscious and know what he’s doing, but at the same time he’s in a fit of passion. And so, apparently, Dmitri Fyodorovich also had a fit of passion. They found out about the fit of passion as soon as they opened the new law courts. It’s a blessing of the new courts. The doctor was here and questioned me about that evening, I mean about the gold mines: ‘How was he then?’ he said. Of course it was a fit of passion—he came in shouting: ‘Money, money, three thousand, give me three thousand,’ and then went and suddenly killed. ‘I don’t want to,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to kill,’ and suddenly he killed. And so, just for that he’ll be forgiven, because he tried to resist, and then killed.”
“But he did not kill,” Alyosha interrupted a bit sharply. Worry and impatience were overcoming him more and more.
“I know, it was that old man, Grigory...”
“What? Grigory?” Alyosha cried.
“Yes, yes, it was Grigory. After Dmitri Fyodorovich hit him, he lay there for a while, then got up, saw the door open, went in, and killed Fyodor Pavlovich.”
“But why, why?”
“He had a fit of passion. After Dmitri Fyodorovich hit him on the head, he came to, had a fit of passion, and went and killed him. And if he says he didn’t kill him, then maybe he just doesn’t remember. Only, you see: it would be better, so much better, if it were Dmitri Fyodorovich who killed him. And that’s how it was, though I say it was Grigory, it was certainly Dmitri Fyodorovich, and that’s much, much better! Oh, not better because a son killed his father, I’m not praising that; on the contrary, children should honor their parents; but still it’s better if it was he, because then there’s nothing to weep about, because he was beside himself when he did it, or, rather, he was within himself, but didn’t know what was happening to him. No, let them forgive him; it’s so humane, and everyone will see this blessing of the new courts, and I didn’t even know about it, but they say it has existed for a long time, and when I found out yesterday, I was so struck that I wanted to send for you at once; and afterwards, if they forgive him, then right after the trial he’ll come here for dinner, and I’ll invite acquaintances, and we shall drink to the new courts. I don’t think he’s dangerous; besides, I’ll invite a lot of guests, so it will always be possible to remove him if he does anything; and later he can become a justice of the peace somewhere in another town, or something like that, because those who have suffered some misfortune themselves are the best judges of all. And moreover, who isn’t in a fit of passion these days—you, me, we’re all in a fit of passion, there are so many examples: a man sits singing some old song, and suddenly something annoys him, he takes out a gun and shoots whoever happens to be there, and then they all forgive him. I read it recently, and all the doctors confirmed it. The doctors confirm nowadays, they confirm everything. Good heavens, my Lise is in a fit of passion, I wept just yesterday on her account, and the day before yesterday, and today I realized that she’s simply in a fit of passion. Oh, Lise upsets me so! I think she’s gone quite mad. Why did she send for you? Did she send for you, or did you come by yourself?”
“Yes, she sent for me, and I shall go to her now,” Alyosha made a resolute attempt to stand up.
“Ah, dear, dear Alexei Fyodorovich, perhaps that is the main thing,” Madame Khokhlakov cried, and suddenly burst into tears. “God knows I sincerely trust you with Lise, and it doesn’t matter that she sent for you in secret from her mother. But, forgive me, I cannot with the same ease trust my daughter to your brother, Ivan Fyodorovich, though I continue to regard him as a most chivalrous young man. And, imagine, he suddenly visited Lise, and I knew nothing about it.”
“What? How? When?” Alyosha was terribly surprised. He did not sit down again, but listened standing.
“I shall tell you, that is perhaps why I called you here, because otherwise I don’t know why I called you here. It was like this: Ivan Fyodorovich has been to see me only twice since his return from Moscow; the first time he came as an acquaintance, to visit me; the other time, this was just recently, Katya was here, and he came over because he found out she was here. I, naturally, have never claimed he should visit often, knowing how many troubles he had without that—vous comprenez, cette affaire et la mort terrible de votre papa[289]— only I suddenly learned that he had come again, not to me but to Lise, it was about six days ago, he came, stayed for five minutes, and left. And I learned of it a whole three days later from Glafira, so it was quite a shock to me. I summoned Lise at once, and she laughed: ‘He thought you were asleep,’ she said, ‘and came to ask me about your health.’ Of course that’s how it was. Only Lise, Lise—oh, God, how she upsets me! Imagine, one night suddenly—it was four days ago, just after you were here last time and left—suddenly that night she had hysterics, shouting, shrieking! Why is it I never have hysterics? Then hysterics the next day, and again the third day, and yesterday, and then yesterday this fit of passion. And she suddenly shouted at me: ‘I hate Ivan Fyodorovich, I demand that you not receive him, that you forbid him the house! ‘ I was astounded, it was so sudden, and I objected to her: ‘Why on earth should I not receive such a worthy young man, and such a learned one besides, and with such misfortunes, because all these stories—certainly they’re a misfortune, there’s nothing fortunate about them, is there?’ She suddenly burst out laughing at my words, and, you know, so impudently. Well, I was glad, thinking I had made her laugh and now the hysterics would go away, all the more so as I myself wanted to stop receiving Ivan Fyodorovich, because of these strange visits without my consent, and to demand an explanation. Only suddenly this morning, Liza woke up and got angry with Yulia, and, imagine, slapped her in the face. But this is monstrous, I am always formal with my maids. And suddenly an hour later she was embracing Yulia and kissing her feet. And she sent to tell me that she would not come to me at all and would never come to me thereafter, and when I dragged myself to her, she rushed to kiss me and weep, and as she was kissing me, she pushed me out without saying a word, so that I didn’t find out anything. Now, dear Alexei Fyodorovich, all my hopes are on you, and, of course, the fate of my whole life is in your hands. I simply ask you to go to Lise, find out everything from her, as only you can do, and come and tell me—me, her mother, because you understand I shall die, I shall simply die, if this all goes on, or else I shall run away. I can bear it no longer, I have patience, but I may lose it, and then. . . and then there will be horrors. Ah, my God, here is Pyotr Ilyich at last!” Madame Khokhlakov cried, brightening up all over, as she saw Pyotr Ilyich Perkhotin come in. “You’re late, late! Well, what is it, sit down, speak, decide my fate, what about this lawyer? Where are you going, Alexei Fyodorovich?”