He had been called before Alyosha, but a fit kept him from appearing, and no one seemed to have heard the usher. Ivan walks up with extraordinary slowness, looking at no one, his head bowed. He is irreproachably dressed, but his face makes a painful impression. The President asks if he is still unwell. He says he is well enough, then that he has nothing particular. He knows nothing of his father's money relations with Dmitri. He asks to be let go. He feels very ill. Alyosha moans; the court treats him gently until his answers turn brief and disgusted. He starts to leave, then returns with a peasant-girl sarafan joke and pulls out the roll of notes from the envelope. He says he got them from Smerdyakov yesterday, that Smerdyakov murdered their father and that he incited him; That is just it. I have no proof. He snarls that everyone desires a father's death, and he speaks of the devil, confidentially, as if the devil were there with the evidence. Alyosha cries brain fever; Ivan insists he is only a murderer; ushers drag him out screaming.
Katerina Ivanovna hysterics next. She thrusts Mitya's Metropolis letter at the president, the mathematical proof of planned parricide. She tells how she tested him with three thousand roubles, how he took her money for Grushenka, how the letter says he will kill his father as soon as Ivan has gone away. Mitya roars that it is true, he looked into her eyes and took it; the clerk reads the letter aloud.
Katya's revenge unravels into confession: she lied earlier to save Mitya, she says he despised her bow, she loved Ivan and watched him break over the murder, visiting Smerdyakov twice while brain fever closed in. Grushenka rushes to Mitya calling Katya his serpent; both are restrained as Katya falls shrieking.
The Moscow doctor declares Ivan in dangerous brain fever; the letter joins the material proofs. The judges enter both catastrophes on the protocol and adjourn briefly before continuing. Fetyukovitch is shaken; the prosecutor is triumphant. At eight o'clock Ippolit Kirillovitch rises to speak while the hall still buzzes from the catastrophe.
Coming Up in Chapter 85
Ippolit Kirillovitch begins trembling, with cold sweat on his forehead. He regards the speech as his swan song. He will die of consumption nine months later. We are so accustomed to such crimes, he says, that such dark deeds have ceased to horrify us. He compares Russia to a troika galloping to an unknown goal. The hall applauds.