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who snatched the notes from under the pillow, not like a
thief stealing them, but as though seizing his own property
from the thief who had stolen it. For that was the idea which
had become almost an insane obsession in Dmitri Karam-
azov in regard to that money. And pouncing upon the
envelope, which he had never seen before, he tore it open to
make sure whether the money was in it, and ran away with
the money in his pocket, even forgetting to consider that he
had left an astounding piece of evidence against himself in
that torn envelope on the floor. All because it was Karam-
azov, not Smerdyakov, he didn’t think, he didn’t reflect, and
how should he? He ran away; he heard behind him the ser-
vant cry out; the old man caught him, stopped him and was
felled to the ground by the brass pestle.
‘The prisoner, moved by pity, leapt down to look at him.
Would you believe it, he tells us that he leapt down out of
pity, out of compassion, to see whether he could do any-
thing for him. Was that a moment to show compassion? No;
he jumped down simply to make certain whether the only
witness of his crime were dead or alive. Any other feeling,
any other motive would be unnatural. Note that he took
trouble over Grigory, wiped his head with his handkerchief
and, convincing himself he was dead, he ran to the house of
his mistress, dazed and covered with blood. How was it he
never thought that he was covered with blood and would be
at once detected? But the prisoner himself assures us that
he did not even notice that he was covered with blood. That
may be believed, that is very possible, that always happens
at such moments with criminals. On one point they will

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