feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Brothers Karamazov/section_13_part_5.txt
feat_book_id: The Brothers Karamazov.book 11.chapter 4
feat_summary_id: book 11, chapter 4
feat_summary: {"name": "book 11, Chapter 4", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210305110438/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/brothersk/section14/", "summary": "A Hymn and a Secret Alyosha goes to the prison, where Rakitin has just visited Dmitri. Perplexed, Alyosha asks Dmitri about the visit, and Dmitri says Rakitin wants to write an article alleging that, because of his circumstances, Dmitri could not have helped but kill his father. Dmitri says he holds Rakitin in contempt, but allows him to visit so he can laugh at his ideas. Sobering, Dmitri tells Alyosha that even though he is not guilty of the crime of which he is accused, he has come to terms with the burden of sin he has created for himself and longs to do penance and redeem himself. He is only afraid that Grushenka will not be allowed to travel with him to his exile in Siberia, and that without her, he will lack the strength necessary for his spiritual renewal. Dmitri says that Ivan has recently offered him a plan for his escape, even though Ivan believes Dmitri to be guilty of the murder. This plan is the secret that they have been keeping from Grushenka. Tormented with grief and guilt, Dmitri refuses to escape before the trial. He asks Alyosha what he believes, and Alyosha says that he has never believed Dmitri to be guilty. This declaration from his younger brother fills Dmitri with courage and hope", "analysis": ""}
text: Chapter IV. A Hymn And A Secret
  
  
  It was quite late (days are short in November) when Alyosha rang at the
  prison gate. It was beginning to get dusk. But Alyosha knew that he would
  be admitted without difficulty. Things were managed in our little town, as
  everywhere else. At first, of course, on the conclusion of the preliminary
  inquiry, relations and a few other persons could only obtain interviews
  with Mitya by going through certain inevitable formalities. But later,
  though the formalities were not relaxed, exceptions were made for some, at
  least, of Mitya's visitors. So much so, that sometimes the interviews with
  the prisoner in the room set aside for the purpose were practically
  _tete-a-tete_.
  
  These exceptions, however, were few in number; only Grushenka, Alyosha and
  Rakitin were treated like this. But the captain of the police, Mihail
  Mihailovitch, was very favorably disposed to Grushenka. His abuse of her
  at Mokroe weighed on the old man's conscience, and when he learned the
  whole story, he completely changed his view of her. And strange to say,
  though he was firmly persuaded of his guilt, yet after Mitya was once in
  prison, the old man came to take a more and more lenient view of him. "He
  was a man of good heart, perhaps," he thought, "who had come to grief from
  drinking and dissipation." His first horror had been succeeded by pity. As
  for Alyosha, the police captain was very fond of him and had known him for
  a long time. Rakitin, who had of late taken to coming very often to see
  the prisoner, was one of the most intimate acquaintances of the "police
  captain's young ladies," as he called them, and was always hanging about
  their house. He gave lessons in the house of the prison superintendent,
  too, who, though scrupulous in the performance of his duties, was a kind-
  hearted old man. Alyosha, again, had an intimate acquaintance of long
  standing with the superintendent, who was fond of talking to him,
  generally on sacred subjects. He respected Ivan Fyodorovitch, and stood in
  awe of his opinion, though he was a great philosopher himself; "self-
  taught," of course. But Alyosha had an irresistible attraction for him.
  During the last year the old man had taken to studying the Apocryphal
  Gospels, and constantly talked over his impressions with his young friend.
  He used to come and see him in the monastery and discussed for hours
  together with him and with the monks. So even if Alyosha were late at the
  prison, he had only to go to the superintendent and everything was made
  easy. Besides, every one in the prison, down to the humblest warder, had
  grown used to Alyosha. The sentry, of course, did not trouble him so long
  as the authorities were satisfied.
  
  When Mitya was summoned from his cell, he always went downstairs, to the
  place set aside for interviews. As Alyosha entered the room he came upon
  Rakitin, who was just taking leave of Mitya. They were both talking
  loudly. Mitya was laughing heartily as he saw him out, while Rakitin
  seemed grumbling. Rakitin did not like meeting Alyosha, especially of
  late. He scarcely spoke to him, and bowed to him stiffly. Seeing Alyosha
  enter now, he frowned and looked away, as though he were entirely absorbed
  in buttoning his big, warm, fur-trimmed overcoat. Then he began looking at
  once for his umbrella.
  
  "I must mind not to forget my belongings," he muttered, simply to say
  something.
  
  "Mind you don't forget other people's belongings," said Mitya, as a joke,
  and laughed at once at his own wit. Rakitin fired up instantly.
  
  "You'd better give that advice to your own family, who've always been a
  slave-driving lot, and not to Rakitin," he cried, suddenly trembling with
  anger.
  
  "What's the matter? I was joking," cried Mitya. "Damn it all! They are all
  like that," he turned to Alyosha, nodding towards Rakitin's hurriedly
  retreating figure. "He was sitting here, laughing and cheerful, and all at
  once he boils up like that. He didn't even nod to you. Have you broken
  with him completely? Why are you so late? I've not been simply waiting,
  but thirsting for you the whole morning. But never mind. We'll make up for
  it now."
  
  "Why does he come here so often? Surely you are not such great friends?"
  asked Alyosha. He, too, nodded at the door through which Rakitin had
  disappeared.
  
  "Great friends with Rakitin? No, not as much as that. Is it likely--a pig
  like that? He considers I am ... a blackguard. They can't understand a
  joke either, that's the worst of such people. They never understand a
  joke, and their souls are dry, dry and flat; they remind me of prison
  walls when I was first brought here. But he is a clever fellow, very
  clever. Well, Alexey, it's all over with me now."
  
  He sat down on the bench and made Alyosha sit down beside him.
  
  "Yes, the trial's to-morrow. Are you so hopeless, brother?" Alyosha said,
  with an apprehensive feeling.
  
  "What are you talking about?" said Mitya, looking at him rather
  uncertainly. "Oh, you mean the trial! Damn it all! Till now we've been
  talking of things that don't matter, about this trial, but I haven't said
  a word to you about the chief thing. Yes, the trial is to-morrow; but it
  wasn't the trial I meant, when I said it was all over with me. Why do you
  look at me so critically?"
  
  "What do you mean, Mitya?"
  
  "Ideas, ideas, that's all! Ethics! What is ethics?"
  
  "Ethics?" asked Alyosha, wondering.
  
  "Yes; is it a science?"
  
  "Yes, there is such a science ... but ... I confess I can't explain to you
  what sort of science it is."
  
  "Rakitin knows. Rakitin knows a lot, damn him! He's not going to be a
  monk. He means to go to Petersburg. There he'll go in for criticism of an
  elevating tendency. Who knows, he may be of use and make his own career,
  too. Ough! they are first-rate, these people, at making a career! Damn
  ethics, I am done for, Alexey, I am, you man of God! I love you more than
  any one. It makes my heart yearn to look at you. Who was Karl Bernard?"
  
  "Karl Bernard?" Alyosha was surprised again.
  
  "No, not Karl. Stay, I made a mistake. Claude Bernard. What was he?
  Chemist or what?"
  
  "He must be a savant," answered Alyosha; "but I confess I can't tell you
  much about him, either. I've heard of him as a savant, but what sort I
  don't know."
  
  "Well, damn him, then! I don't know either," swore Mitya. "A scoundrel of
  some sort, most likely. They are all scoundrels. And Rakitin will make his
  way. Rakitin will get on anywhere; he is another Bernard. Ugh, these
  Bernards! They are all over the place."
  
  "But what is the matter?" Alyosha asked insistently.
  
  "He wants to write an article about me, about my case, and so begin his
  literary career. That's what he comes for; he said so himself. He wants to
  prove some theory. He wants to say 'he couldn't help murdering his father,
  he was corrupted by his environment,' and so on. He explained it all to
  me. He is going to put in a tinge of Socialism, he says. But there, damn
  the fellow, he can put in a tinge if he likes, I don't care. He can't bear
  Ivan, he hates him. He's not fond of you, either. But I don't turn him
  out, for he is a clever fellow. Awfully conceited, though. I said to him
  just now, 'The Karamazovs are not blackguards, but philosophers; for all
  true Russians are philosophers, and though you've studied, you are not a
  philosopher--you are a low fellow.' He laughed, so maliciously. And I said
  to him, '_De ideabus non est disputandum_.' Isn't that rather good? I can
  set up for being a classic, you see!" Mitya laughed suddenly.
  
  "Why is it all over with you? You said so just now," Alyosha interposed.
  
  "Why is it all over with me? H'm!... The fact of it is ... if you take it
  as a whole, I am sorry to lose God--that's why it is."
  
  "What do you mean by 'sorry to lose God'?"
  
  "Imagine: inside, in the nerves, in the head--that is, these nerves are
  there in the brain ... (damn them!) there are sort of little tails, the
  little tails of those nerves, and as soon as they begin quivering ... that
  is, you see, I look at something with my eyes and then they begin
  quivering, those little tails ... and when they quiver, then an image
  appears ... it doesn't appear at once, but an instant, a second, passes
  ... and then something like a moment appears; that is, not a moment--devil
  take the moment!--but an image; that is, an object, or an action, damn it!
  That's why I see and then think, because of those tails, not at all
  because I've got a soul, and that I am some sort of image and likeness.
  All that is nonsense! Rakitin explained it all to me yesterday, brother,
  and it simply bowled me over. It's magnificent, Alyosha, this science! A
  new man's arising--that I understand.... And yet I am sorry to lose God!"
  
  "Well, that's a good thing, anyway," said Alyosha.
  
  "That I am sorry to lose God? It's chemistry, brother, chemistry! There's
  no help for it, your reverence, you must make way for chemistry. And
  Rakitin does dislike God. Ough! doesn't he dislike Him! That's the sore
  point with all of them. But they conceal it. They tell lies. They pretend.
  'Will you preach this in your reviews?' I asked him. 'Oh, well, if I did
  it openly, they won't let it through,' he said. He laughed. 'But what will
  become of men then?' I asked him, 'without God and immortal life? All
  things are lawful then, they can do what they like?' 'Didn't you know?' he
  said laughing, 'a clever man can do what he likes,' he said. 'A clever man
  knows his way about, but you've put your foot in it, committing a murder,
  and now you are rotting in prison.' He says that to my face! A regular
  pig! I used to kick such people out, but now I listen to them. He talks a
  lot of sense, too. Writes well. He began reading me an article last week.
  I copied out three lines of it. Wait a minute. Here it is."
  
  Mitya hurriedly pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and read:
  
  " 'In order to determine this question, it is above all essential to put
  one's personality in contradiction to one's reality.' Do you understand
  that?"
  
  "No, I don't," said Alyosha. He looked at Mitya and listened to him with
  curiosity.
  
  "I don't understand either. It's dark and obscure, but intellectual.
  'Every one writes like that now,' he says, 'it's the effect of their
  environment.' They are afraid of the environment. He writes poetry, too,
  the rascal. He's written in honor of Madame Hohlakov's foot. Ha ha ha!"
  
  "I've heard about it," said Alyosha.
  
  "Have you? And have you heard the poem?"
  
  "No."
  
  "I've got it. Here it is. I'll read it to you. You don't know--I haven't
  told you--there's quite a story about it. He's a rascal! Three weeks ago he
  began to tease me. 'You've got yourself into a mess, like a fool, for the
  sake of three thousand, but I'm going to collar a hundred and fifty
  thousand. I am going to marry a widow and buy a house in Petersburg.' And
  he told me he was courting Madame Hohlakov. She hadn't much brains in her
  youth, and now at forty she has lost what she had. 'But she's awfully
  sentimental,' he says; 'that's how I shall get hold of her. When I marry
  her, I shall take her to Petersburg and there I shall start a newspaper.'
  And his mouth was simply watering, the beast, not for the widow, but for
  the hundred and fifty thousand. And he made me believe it. He came to see
  me every day. 'She is coming round,' he declared. He was beaming with
  delight. And then, all of a sudden, he was turned out of the house.
  Perhotin's carrying everything before him, bravo! I could kiss the silly
  old noodle for turning him out of the house. And he had written this
  doggerel. 'It's the first time I've soiled my hands with writing poetry,'
  he said. 'It's to win her heart, so it's in a good cause. When I get hold
  of the silly woman's fortune, I can be of great social utility.' They have
  this social justification for every nasty thing they do! 'Anyway it's
  better than your Pushkin's poetry,' he said, 'for I've managed to advocate
  enlightenment even in that.' I understand what he means about Pushkin, I
  quite see that, if he really was a man of talent and only wrote about
  women's feet. But wasn't Rakitin stuck up about his doggerel! The vanity
  of these fellows! 'On the convalescence of the swollen foot of the object
  of my affections'--he thought of that for a title. He's a waggish fellow.
  
  
      A captivating little foot,
      Though swollen and red and tender!
      The doctors come and plasters put,
      But still they cannot mend her.
  
      Yet, 'tis not for her foot I dread--
      A theme for Pushkin's muse more fit--
      It's not her foot, it is her head:
      I tremble for her loss of wit!
  
      For as her foot swells, strange to say,
      Her intellect is on the wane--
      Oh, for some remedy I pray
      That may restore both foot and brain!
  
  
  He is a pig, a regular pig, but he's very arch, the rascal! And he really
  has put in a progressive idea. And wasn't he angry when she kicked him
  out! He was gnashing his teeth!"
  
  "He's taken his revenge already," said Alyosha. "He's written a paragraph
  about Madame Hohlakov."
  
  And Alyosha told him briefly about the paragraph in _Gossip_.
  
  "That's his doing, that's his doing!" Mitya assented, frowning. "That's
  him! These paragraphs ... I know ... the insulting things that have been
  written about Grushenka, for instance.... And about Katya, too.... H'm!"
  
  He walked across the room with a harassed air.
  
  "Brother, I cannot stay long," Alyosha said, after a pause. "To-morrow
  will be a great and awful day for you, the judgment of God will be
  accomplished ... I am amazed at you, you walk about here, talking of I
  don't know what ..."
  
  "No, don't be amazed at me," Mitya broke in warmly. "Am I to talk of that
  stinking dog? Of the murderer? We've talked enough of him. I don't want to
  say more of the stinking son of Stinking Lizaveta! God will kill him, you
  will see. Hush!"
  
  He went up to Alyosha excitedly and kissed him. His eyes glowed.
  
  "Rakitin wouldn't understand it," he began in a sort of exaltation; "but
  you, you'll understand it all. That's why I was thirsting for you. You
  see, there's so much I've been wanting to tell you for ever so long, here,
  within these peeling walls, but I haven't said a word about what matters
  most; the moment never seems to have come. Now I can wait no longer. I
  must pour out my heart to you. Brother, these last two months I've found
  in myself a new man. A new man has risen up in me. He was hidden in me,
  but would never have come to the surface, if it hadn't been for this blow
  from heaven. I am afraid! And what do I care if I spend twenty years in
  the mines, breaking ore with a hammer? I am not a bit afraid of that--it's
  something else I am afraid of now: that that new man may leave me. Even
  there, in the mines, under-ground, I may find a human heart in another
  convict and murderer by my side, and I may make friends with him, for even
  there one may live and love and suffer. One may thaw and revive a frozen
  heart in that convict, one may wait upon him for years, and at last bring
  up from the dark depths a lofty soul, a feeling, suffering creature; one
  may bring forth an angel, create a hero! There are so many of them,
  hundreds of them, and we are all to blame for them. Why was it I dreamed
  of that 'babe' at such a moment? 'Why is the babe so poor?' That was a
  sign to me at that moment. It's for the babe I'm going. Because we are all
  responsible for all. For all the 'babes,' for there are big children as
  well as little children. All are 'babes.' I go for all, because some one
  must go for all. I didn't kill father, but I've got to go. I accept it.
  It's all come to me here, here, within these peeling walls. There are
  numbers of them there, hundreds of them underground, with hammers in their
  hands. Oh, yes, we shall be in chains and there will be no freedom, but
  then, in our great sorrow, we shall rise again to joy, without which man
  cannot live nor God exist, for God gives joy: it's His privilege--a grand
  one. Ah, man should be dissolved in prayer! What should I be underground
  there without God? Rakitin's laughing! If they drive God from the earth,
  we shall shelter Him underground. One cannot exist in prison without God;
  it's even more impossible than out of prison. And then we men underground
  will sing from the bowels of the earth a glorious hymn to God, with Whom
  is joy. Hail to God and His joy! I love Him!"
  
  Mitya was almost gasping for breath as he uttered his wild speech. He
  turned pale, his lips quivered, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
  
  "Yes, life is full, there is life even underground," he began again. "You
  wouldn't believe, Alexey, how I want to live now, what a thirst for
  existence and consciousness has sprung up in me within these peeling
  walls. Rakitin doesn't understand that; all he cares about is building a
  house and letting flats. But I've been longing for you. And what is
  suffering? I am not afraid of it, even if it were beyond reckoning. I am
  not afraid of it now. I was afraid of it before. Do you know, perhaps I
  won't answer at the trial at all.... And I seem to have such strength in
  me now, that I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be
  able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, 'I exist.' In thousands
  of agonies--I exist. I'm tormented on the rack--but I exist! Though I sit
  alone on a pillar--I exist! I see the sun, and if I don't see the sun, I
  know it's there. And there's a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun
  is there. Alyosha, my angel, all these philosophies are the death of me.
  Damn them! Brother Ivan--"
  
  "What of brother Ivan?" interrupted Alyosha, but Mitya did not hear.
  
  "You see, I never had any of these doubts before, but it was all hidden
  away in me. It was perhaps just because ideas I did not understand were
  surging up in me, that I used to drink and fight and rage. It was to
  stifle them in myself, to still them, to smother them. Ivan is not
  Rakitin, there is an idea in him. Ivan is a sphinx and is silent; he is
  always silent. It's God that's worrying me. That's the only thing that's
  worrying me. What if He doesn't exist? What if Rakitin's right--that it's
  an idea made up by men? Then if He doesn't exist, man is the chief of the
  earth, of the universe. Magnificent! Only how is he going to be good
  without God? That's the question. I always come back to that. For whom is
  man going to love then? To whom will he be thankful? To whom will he sing
  the hymn? Rakitin laughs. Rakitin says that one can love humanity without
  God. Well, only a sniveling idiot can maintain that. I can't understand
  it. Life's easy for Rakitin. 'You'd better think about the extension of
  civic rights, or even of keeping down the price of meat. You will show
  your love for humanity more simply and directly by that, than by
  philosophy.' I answered him, 'Well, but you, without a God, are more
  likely to raise the price of meat, if it suits you, and make a rouble on
  every copeck.' He lost his temper. But after all, what is goodness? Answer
  me that, Alexey. Goodness is one thing with me and another with a
  Chinaman, so it's a relative thing. Or isn't it? Is it not relative? A
  treacherous question! You won't laugh if I tell you it's kept me awake two
  nights. I only wonder now how people can live and think nothing about it.
  Vanity! Ivan has no God. He has an idea. It's beyond me. But he is silent.
  I believe he is a free-mason. I asked him, but he is silent. I wanted to
  drink from the springs of his soul--he was silent. But once he did drop a
  word."
  
  "What did he say?" Alyosha took it up quickly.
  
  "I said to him, 'Then everything is lawful, if it is so?' He frowned.
  'Fyodor Pavlovitch, our papa,' he said, 'was a pig, but his ideas were
  right enough.' That was what he dropped. That was all he said. That was
  going one better than Rakitin."
  
  "Yes," Alyosha assented bitterly. "When was he with you?"
  
  "Of that later; now I must speak of something else. I have said nothing
  about Ivan to you before. I put it off to the last. When my business here
  is over and the verdict has been given, then I'll tell you something. I'll
  tell you everything. We've something tremendous on hand.... And you shall
  be my judge in it. But don't begin about that now; be silent. You talk of
  to-morrow, of the trial; but, would you believe it, I know nothing about
  it."
  
  "Have you talked to the counsel?"
  
  "What's the use of the counsel? I told him all about it. He's a soft,
  city-bred rogue--a Bernard! But he doesn't believe me--not a bit of it. Only
  imagine, he believes I did it. I see it. 'In that case,' I asked him, 'why
  have you come to defend me?' Hang them all! They've got a doctor down,
  too, want to prove I'm mad. I won't have that! Katerina Ivanovna wants to
  do her 'duty' to the end, whatever the strain!" Mitya smiled bitterly.
  "The cat! Hard-hearted creature! She knows that I said of her at Mokroe
  that she was a woman of 'great wrath.' They repeated it. Yes, the facts
  against me have grown numerous as the sands of the sea. Grigory sticks to
  his point. Grigory's honest, but a fool. Many people are honest because
  they are fools: that's Rakitin's idea. Grigory's my enemy. And there are
  some people who are better as foes than friends. I mean Katerina Ivanovna.
  I am afraid, oh, I am afraid she will tell how she bowed to the ground
  after that four thousand. She'll pay it back to the last farthing. I don't
  want her sacrifice; they'll put me to shame at the trial. I wonder how I
  can stand it. Go to her, Alyosha, ask her not to speak of that in the
  court, can't you? But damn it all, it doesn't matter! I shall get through
  somehow. I don't pity her. It's her own doing. She deserves what she gets.
  I shall have my own story to tell, Alexey." He smiled bitterly again.
  "Only ... only Grusha, Grusha! Good Lord! Why should she have such
  suffering to bear?" he exclaimed suddenly, with tears. "Grusha's killing
  me; the thought of her's killing me, killing me. She was with me just
  now...."
  
  "She told me she was very much grieved by you to-day."
  
  "I know. Confound my temper! It was jealousy. I was sorry, I kissed her as
  she was going. I didn't ask her forgiveness."
  
  "Why didn't you?" exclaimed Alyosha.
  
  Suddenly Mitya laughed almost mirthfully.
  
  "God preserve you, my dear boy, from ever asking forgiveness for a fault
  from a woman you love. From one you love especially, however greatly you
  may have been in fault. For a woman--devil only knows what to make of a
  woman! I know something about them, anyway. But try acknowledging you are
  in fault to a woman. Say, 'I am sorry, forgive me,' and a shower of
  reproaches will follow! Nothing will make her forgive you simply and
  directly, she'll humble you to the dust, bring forward things that have
  never happened, recall everything, forget nothing, add something of her
  own, and only then forgive you. And even the best, the best of them do it.
  She'll scrape up all the scrapings and load them on your head. They are
  ready to flay you alive, I tell you, every one of them, all these angels
  without whom we cannot live! I tell you plainly and openly, dear boy,
  every decent man ought to be under some woman's thumb. That's my
  conviction--not conviction, but feeling. A man ought to be magnanimous, and
  it's no disgrace to a man! No disgrace to a hero, not even a Caesar! But
  don't ever beg her pardon all the same for anything. Remember that rule
  given you by your brother Mitya, who's come to ruin through women. No, I'd
  better make it up to Grusha somehow, without begging pardon. I worship
  her, Alexey, worship her. Only she doesn't see it. No, she still thinks I
  don't love her enough. And she tortures me, tortures me with her love. The
  past was nothing! In the past it was only those infernal curves of hers
  that tortured me, but now I've taken all her soul into my soul and through
  her I've become a man myself. Will they marry us? If they don't, I shall
  die of jealousy. I imagine something every day.... What did she say to you
  about me?"
  
  Alyosha repeated all Grushenka had said to him that day. Mitya listened,
  made him repeat things, and seemed pleased.
  
  "Then she is not angry at my being jealous?" he exclaimed. "She is a
  regular woman! 'I've a fierce heart myself!' Ah, I love such fierce
  hearts, though I can't bear any one's being jealous of me. I can't endure
  it. We shall fight. But I shall love her, I shall love her infinitely.
  Will they marry us? Do they let convicts marry? That's the question. And
  without her I can't exist...."
  
  Mitya walked frowning across the room. It was almost dark. He suddenly
  seemed terribly worried.
  
  "So there's a secret, she says, a secret? We have got up a plot against
  her, and Katya is mixed up in it, she thinks. No, my good Grushenka,
  that's not it. You are very wide of the mark, in your foolish feminine
  way. Alyosha, darling, well, here goes! I'll tell you our secret!"
  
  He looked round, went close up quickly to Alyosha, who was standing before
  him, and whispered to him with an air of mystery, though in reality no one
  could hear them: the old warder was dozing in the corner, and not a word
  could reach the ears of the soldiers on guard.
  
  "I will tell you all our secret," Mitya whispered hurriedly. "I meant to
  tell you later, for how could I decide on anything without you? You are
  everything to me. Though I say that Ivan is superior to us, you are my
  angel. It's your decision will decide it. Perhaps it's you that is
  superior and not Ivan. You see, it's a question of conscience, question of
  the higher conscience--the secret is so important that I can't settle it
  myself, and I've put it off till I could speak to you. But anyway it's too
  early to decide now, for we must wait for the verdict. As soon as the
  verdict is given, you shall decide my fate. Don't decide it now. I'll tell
  you now. You listen, but don't decide. Stand and keep quiet. I won't tell
  you everything. I'll only tell you the idea, without details, and you keep
  quiet. Not a question, not a movement. You agree? But, goodness, what
  shall I do with your eyes? I'm afraid your eyes will tell me your
  decision, even if you don't speak. Oo! I'm afraid! Alyosha, listen! Ivan
  suggests my _escaping_. I won't tell you the details: it's all been
  thought out: it can all be arranged. Hush, don't decide. I should go to
  America with Grusha. You know I can't live without Grusha! What if they
  won't let her follow me to Siberia? Do they let convicts get married? Ivan
  thinks not. And without Grusha what should I do there underground with a
  hammer? I should only smash my skull with the hammer! But, on the other
  hand, my conscience? I should have run away from suffering. A sign has
  come, I reject the sign. I have a way of salvation and I turn my back on
  it. Ivan says that in America, 'with the good-will,' I can be of more use
  than underground. But what becomes of our hymn from underground? What's
  America? America is vanity again! And there's a lot of swindling in
  America, too, I expect. I should have run away from crucifixion! I tell
  you, you know, Alexey, because you are the only person who can understand
  this. There's no one else. It's folly, madness to others, all I've told
  you of the hymn. They'll say I'm out of my mind or a fool. I am not out of
  my mind and I am not a fool. Ivan understands about the hymn, too. He
  understands, only he doesn't answer--he doesn't speak. He doesn't believe
  in the hymn. Don't speak, don't speak. I see how you look! You have
  already decided. Don't decide, spare me! I can't live without Grusha. Wait
  till after the trial!"
  
  Mitya ended beside himself. He held Alyosha with both hands on his
  shoulders, and his yearning, feverish eyes were fixed on his brother's.
  
  "They don't let convicts marry, do they?" he repeated for the third time
  in a supplicating voice.
  
  Alyosha listened with extreme surprise and was deeply moved.
  
  "Tell me one thing," he said. "Is Ivan very keen on it, and whose idea was
  it?"
  
  "His, his, and he is very keen on it. He didn't come to see me at first,
  then he suddenly came a week ago and he began about it straight away. He
  is awfully keen on it. He doesn't ask me, but orders me to escape. He
  doesn't doubt of my obeying him, though I showed him all my heart as I
  have to you, and told him about the hymn, too. He told me he'd arrange it;
  he's found out about everything. But of that later. He's simply set on it.
  It's all a matter of money: he'll pay ten thousand for escape and give me
  twenty thousand for America. And he says we can arrange a magnificent
  escape for ten thousand."
  
  "And he told you on no account to tell me?" Alyosha asked again.
  
  "To tell no one, and especially not you; on no account to tell you. He is
  afraid, no doubt, that you'll stand before me as my conscience. Don't tell
  him I told you. Don't tell him, for anything."
  
  "You are right," Alyosha pronounced; "it's impossible to decide anything
  before the trial is over. After the trial you'll decide of yourself. Then
  you'll find that new man in yourself and he will decide."
  
  "A new man, or a Bernard who'll decide _a la_ Bernard, for I believe I'm a
  contemptible Bernard myself," said Mitya, with a bitter grin.
  
  "But, brother, have you no hope then of being acquitted?"
  
  Mitya shrugged his shoulders nervously and shook his head. "Alyosha,
  darling, it's time you were going," he said, with a sudden haste. "There's
  the superintendent shouting in the yard. He'll be here directly. We are
  late; it's irregular. Embrace me quickly. Kiss me! Sign me with the cross,
  darling, for the cross I have to bear to-morrow."
  
  They embraced and kissed.
  
  "Ivan," said Mitya suddenly, "suggests my escaping; but, of course, he
  believes I did it."
  
  A mournful smile came on to his lips.
  
  "Have you asked him whether he believes it?" asked Alyosha.
  
  "No, I haven't. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I hadn't the courage. But I
  saw it from his eyes. Well, good-by!"
  
  Once more they kissed hurriedly, and Alyosha was just going out, when
  Mitya suddenly called him back.
  
  "Stand facing me! That's right!" And again he seized Alyosha, putting both
  hands on his shoulders. His face became suddenly quite pale, so that it
  was dreadfully apparent, even through the gathering darkness. His lips
  twitched, his eyes fastened upon Alyosha.
  
  "Alyosha, tell me the whole truth, as you would before God. Do you believe
  I did it? Do you, do you in yourself, believe it? The whole truth, don't
  lie!" he cried desperately.
  
  Everything seemed heaving before Alyosha, and he felt something like a
  stab at his heart.
  
  "Hush! What do you mean?" he faltered helplessly.
  
  "The whole truth, the whole, don't lie!" repeated Mitya.
  
  "I've never for one instant believed that you were the murderer!" broke in
  a shaking voice from Alyosha's breast, and he raised his right hand in the
  air, as though calling God to witness his words.
  
  Mitya's whole face was lighted up with bliss.
  
  "Thank you!" he articulated slowly, as though letting a sigh escape him
  after fainting. "Now you have given me new life. Would you believe it,
  till this moment I've been afraid to ask you, you, even you. Well, go!
  You've given me strength for to-morrow. God bless you! Come, go along!
  Love Ivan!" was Mitya's last word.
  
  Alyosha went out in tears. Such distrustfulness in Mitya, such lack of
  confidence even to him, to Alyosha--all this suddenly opened before Alyosha
  an unsuspected depth of hopeless grief and despair in the soul of his
  unhappy brother. Intense, infinite compassion overwhelmed him instantly.
  There was a poignant ache in his torn heart. "Love Ivan!"--he suddenly
  recalled Mitya's words. And he was going to Ivan. He badly wanted to see
  Ivan all day. He was as much worried about Ivan as about Mitya, and more
  than ever now.
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: book 11, Chapter 4
target: A Hymn and a Secret Alyosha goes to the prison, where Rakitin has just visited Dmitri. Perplexed, Alyosha asks Dmitri about the visit, and Dmitri says Rakitin wants to write an article alleging that, because of his circumstances, Dmitri could not have helped but kill his father. Dmitri says he holds Rakitin in contempt, but allows him to visit so he can laugh at his ideas. Sobering, Dmitri tells Alyosha that even though he is not guilty of the crime of which he is accused, he has come to terms with the burden of sin he has created for himself and longs to do penance and redeem himself. He is only afraid that Grushenka will not be allowed to travel with him to his exile in Siberia, and that without her, he will lack the strength necessary for his spiritual renewal. Dmitri says that Ivan has recently offered him a plan for his escape, even though Ivan believes Dmitri to be guilty of the murder. This plan is the secret that they have been keeping from Grushenka. Tormented with grief and guilt, Dmitri refuses to escape before the trial. He asks Alyosha what he believes, and Alyosha says that he has never believed Dmitri to be guilty. This declaration from his younger brother fills Dmitri with courage and hope