The Brothers Karamazov

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

“I know only one thing,” Alyosha said, still almost in a whisper. “You didn’t kill Father.” “ ‘Not me!’ What do you mean, not me?” Ivan was flabbergasted. “You didn’t kill Father, it wasn’t you!” Alyosha repeated firmly. The silence lasted half a minute. “I myself know it wasn’t me. Why are you raving?” Ivan asked with a pale, distorted grin. He stared fixedly at Alyosha. They were both standing under a streetlight again. “No, Ivan, you’ve told yourself several times that you killed him.” “When did I say this? I was in Moscow. . . . When did I say it?” Ivan stuttered, completely at a loss. “You told yourself that many times, when you were left alone during these last two terrible months,” Alyosha continued, as quietly and distinctly as before. But he was speaking as if he were beside himself, not by his own will, but obeying some vague command. “You blamed yourself and admitted that the killer was no one else but you. But you didn’t kill him, you’re mistaken, you’re not the murderer, do you hear me, it’s not you! God sent me to tell you that.” They both fell silent. This silence lasted for one long whole minute. They both stood and continued looking directly at each other. They were both pale. Suddenly Ivan started shaking all over and grasped Alyosha tightly by the shoulder. “You’ve been in my room!” he said in a grating whisper. “You came to my room at night when he was here. . . . Admit it. . . . You’ve seen him, you did.” “Who are you talking about . . . about Mitya?” ...

Surely this an important emotional climax in this long saga