feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/The Brothers Karamazov/section_36_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The Brothers Karamazov.book 5.chapter 6
feat_summary_id: book 5, chapter 6
feat_summary: {"name": "Book 5, Chapter 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201023112808/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/brothers-karamazov/summary/book-5-chapter-6", "summary": "As Ivan heads back to his father's house, he feels increasingly troubled. When he arrives, he sees Smerdyakov sitting on a bench outside and is suddenly overwhelmed by his intense loathing for him. But despite this, he finds himself sitting down on the bench to talk with Smerdyakov. Smerdyakov asks Ivan why he doesn't go to Chermashnya, and Ivan is confused by his question. Smerdyakov then babbles a bit about how concerned he is by the trouble between Dmitri and Fyodor, and how worried he is that Dmitri will kill him for conspiring with Fyodor. He wonders whether he'll get an attack of \"falling sickness\" the next day. Ivan thinks Smerdyakov is being absurd because he isn't supposed to be able to predict when his epileptic fits will come on. Smerdyakov then worries that he'll be considered Dmitri's accomplice just in case Dmitri does end up killing Fyodor, because he's told Dmitri about the secret signals. If Grushenka arrives to accept Fyodor's money, Smerdyakov and Fyodor have agreed on a special knock to announce her arrival. Ivan gets even more irritated, but Smerdyakov continues on to tell him that Grigory, Fyodor's faithful servant, is knocked out from the tonic he takes for his back troubles, and his wife Marfa has taken a sip too. If Smerdyakov does have a fit, there will be no one to prevent Dmitri from attacking Fyodor and stealing his money. Ivan wants to know why Smerdyakov is so convinced that Dmitri will kill Fyodor. Smerdyakov says if Grushenka were to seduce Fyodor, she would convince him to sign over their inheritance to her. Ivan asks whether that's the real reason Smerdyakov wants Ivan to go to Chermashnya instead of Moscow - Chermashnya is closer just in case Dmitri does commit the murder. Smerdyakov is so irritating at this point that Ivan is about to punch him, but instead he walks away laughing.", "analysis": ""}
text: Chapter VI. For Awhile A Very Obscure One
  
  
  And Ivan, on parting from Alyosha, went home to Fyodor Pavlovitch's house.
  But, strange to say, he was overcome by insufferable depression, which
  grew greater at every step he took towards the house. There was nothing
  strange in his being depressed; what was strange was that Ivan could not
  have said what was the cause of it. He had often been depressed before,
  and there was nothing surprising at his feeling so at such a moment, when
  he had broken off with everything that had brought him here, and was
  preparing that day to make a new start and enter upon a new, unknown
  future. He would again be as solitary as ever, and though he had great
  hopes, and great--too great--expectations from life, he could not have given
  any definite account of his hopes, his expectations, or even his desires.
  
  Yet at that moment, though the apprehension of the new and unknown
  certainly found place in his heart, what was worrying him was something
  quite different. "Is it loathing for my father's house?" he wondered.
  "Quite likely; I am so sick of it; and though it's the last time I shall
  cross its hateful threshold, still I loathe it.... No, it's not that
  either. Is it the parting with Alyosha and the conversation I had with
  him? For so many years I've been silent with the whole world and not
  deigned to speak, and all of a sudden I reel off a rigmarole like that."
  It certainly might have been the youthful vexation of youthful
  inexperience and vanity--vexation at having failed to express himself,
  especially with such a being as Alyosha, on whom his heart had certainly
  been reckoning. No doubt that came in, that vexation, it must have done
  indeed; but yet that was not it, that was not it either. "I feel sick with
  depression and yet I can't tell what I want. Better not think, perhaps."
  
  Ivan tried "not to think," but that, too, was no use. What made his
  depression so vexatious and irritating was that it had a kind of casual,
  external character--he felt that. Some person or thing seemed to be
  standing out somewhere, just as something will sometimes obtrude itself
  upon the eye, and though one may be so busy with work or conversation that
  for a long time one does not notice it, yet it irritates and almost
  torments one till at last one realizes, and removes the offending object,
  often quite a trifling and ridiculous one--some article left about in the
  wrong place, a handkerchief on the floor, a book not replaced on the
  shelf, and so on.
  
  At last, feeling very cross and ill-humored, Ivan arrived home, and
  suddenly, about fifteen paces from the garden gate, he guessed what was
  fretting and worrying him.
  
  On a bench in the gateway the valet Smerdyakov was sitting enjoying the
  coolness of the evening, and at the first glance at him Ivan knew that the
  valet Smerdyakov was on his mind, and that it was this man that his soul
  loathed. It all dawned upon him suddenly and became clear. Just before,
  when Alyosha had been telling him of his meeting with Smerdyakov, he had
  felt a sudden twinge of gloom and loathing, which had immediately stirred
  responsive anger in his heart. Afterwards, as he talked, Smerdyakov had
  been forgotten for the time; but still he had been in his mind, and as
  soon as Ivan parted with Alyosha and was walking home, the forgotten
  sensation began to obtrude itself again. "Is it possible that a miserable,
  contemptible creature like that can worry me so much?" he wondered, with
  insufferable irritation.
  
  It was true that Ivan had come of late to feel an intense dislike for the
  man, especially during the last few days. He had even begun to notice in
  himself a growing feeling that was almost of hatred for the creature.
  Perhaps this hatred was accentuated by the fact that when Ivan first came
  to the neighborhood he had felt quite differently. Then he had taken a
  marked interest in Smerdyakov, and had even thought him very original. He
  had encouraged him to talk to him, although he had always wondered at a
  certain incoherence, or rather restlessness, in his mind, and could not
  understand what it was that so continually and insistently worked upon the
  brain of "the contemplative." They discussed philosophical questions and
  even how there could have been light on the first day when the sun, moon,
  and stars were only created on the fourth day, and how that was to be
  understood. But Ivan soon saw that, though the sun, moon, and stars might
  be an interesting subject, yet that it was quite secondary to Smerdyakov,
  and that he was looking for something altogether different. In one way and
  another, he began to betray a boundless vanity, and a wounded vanity, too,
  and that Ivan disliked. It had first given rise to his aversion. Later on,
  there had been trouble in the house. Grushenka had come on the scene, and
  there had been the scandals with his brother Dmitri--they discussed that,
  too. But though Smerdyakov always talked of that with great excitement, it
  was impossible to discover what he desired to come of it. There was, in
  fact, something surprising in the illogicality and incoherence of some of
  his desires, accidentally betrayed and always vaguely expressed.
  Smerdyakov was always inquiring, putting certain indirect but obviously
  premeditated questions, but what his object was he did not explain, and
  usually at the most important moment he would break off and relapse into
  silence or pass to another subject. But what finally irritated Ivan most
  and confirmed his dislike for him was the peculiar, revolting familiarity
  which Smerdyakov began to show more and more markedly. Not that he forgot
  himself and was rude; on the contrary, he always spoke very respectfully,
  yet he had obviously begun to consider--goodness knows why!--that there was
  some sort of understanding between him and Ivan Fyodorovitch. He always
  spoke in a tone that suggested that those two had some kind of compact,
  some secret between them, that had at some time been expressed on both
  sides, only known to them and beyond the comprehension of those around
  them. But for a long while Ivan did not recognize the real cause of his
  growing dislike and he had only lately realized what was at the root of
  it.
  
  With a feeling of disgust and irritation he tried to pass in at the gate
  without speaking or looking at Smerdyakov. But Smerdyakov rose from the
  bench, and from that action alone, Ivan knew instantly that he wanted
  particularly to talk to him. Ivan looked at him and stopped, and the fact
  that he did stop, instead of passing by, as he meant to the minute before,
  drove him to fury. With anger and repulsion he looked at Smerdyakov's
  emasculate, sickly face, with the little curls combed forward on his
  forehead. His left eye winked and he grinned as if to say, "Where are you
  going? You won't pass by; you see that we two clever people have something
  to say to each other."
  
  Ivan shook. "Get away, miserable idiot. What have I to do with you?" was
  on the tip of his tongue, but to his profound astonishment he heard
  himself say, "Is my father still asleep, or has he waked?"
  
  He asked the question softly and meekly, to his own surprise, and at once,
  again to his own surprise, sat down on the bench. For an instant he felt
  almost frightened; he remembered it afterwards. Smerdyakov stood facing
  him, his hands behind his back, looking at him with assurance and almost
  severity.
  
  "His honor is still asleep," he articulated deliberately ("You were the
  first to speak, not I," he seemed to say). "I am surprised at you, sir,"
  he added, after a pause, dropping his eyes affectedly, setting his right
  foot forward, and playing with the tip of his polished boot.
  
  "Why are you surprised at me?" Ivan asked abruptly and sullenly, doing his
  utmost to restrain himself, and suddenly realizing, with disgust, that he
  was feeling intense curiosity and would not, on any account, have gone
  away without satisfying it.
  
  "Why don't you go to Tchermashnya, sir?" Smerdyakov suddenly raised his
  eyes and smiled familiarly. "Why I smile you must understand of yourself,
  if you are a clever man," his screwed-up left eye seemed to say.
  
  "Why should I go to Tchermashnya?" Ivan asked in surprise.
  
  Smerdyakov was silent again.
  
  "Fyodor Pavlovitch himself has so begged you to," he said at last, slowly
  and apparently attaching no significance to his answer. "I put you off
  with a secondary reason," he seemed to suggest, "simply to say something."
  
  "Damn you! Speak out what you want!" Ivan cried angrily at last, passing
  from meekness to violence.
  
  Smerdyakov drew his right foot up to his left, pulled himself up, but
  still looked at him with the same serenity and the same little smile.
  
  "Substantially nothing--but just by way of conversation."
  
  Another silence followed. They did not speak for nearly a minute. Ivan
  knew that he ought to get up and show anger, and Smerdyakov stood before
  him and seemed to be waiting as though to see whether he would be angry or
  not. So at least it seemed to Ivan. At last he moved to get up. Smerdyakov
  seemed to seize the moment.
  
  "I'm in an awful position, Ivan Fyodorovitch. I don't know how to help
  myself," he said resolutely and distinctly, and at his last word he
  sighed. Ivan Fyodorovitch sat down again.
  
  "They are both utterly crazy, they are no better than little children,"
  Smerdyakov went on. "I am speaking of your parent and your brother Dmitri
  Fyodorovitch. Here Fyodor Pavlovitch will get up directly and begin
  worrying me every minute, 'Has she come? Why hasn't she come?' and so on
  up till midnight and even after midnight. And if Agrafena Alexandrovna
  doesn't come (for very likely she does not mean to come at all) then he
  will be at me again to-morrow morning, 'Why hasn't she come? When will she
  come?'--as though I were to blame for it. On the other side it's no better.
  As soon as it gets dark, or even before, your brother will appear with his
  gun in his hands: 'Look out, you rogue, you soup-maker. If you miss her
  and don't let me know she's been--I'll kill you before any one.' When the
  night's over, in the morning, he, too, like Fyodor Pavlovitch, begins
  worrying me to death. 'Why hasn't she come? Will she come soon?' And he,
  too, thinks me to blame because his lady hasn't come. And every day and
  every hour they get angrier and angrier, so that I sometimes think I shall
  kill myself in a fright. I can't depend upon them, sir."
  
  "And why have you meddled? Why did you begin to spy for Dmitri
  Fyodorovitch?" said Ivan irritably.
  
  "How could I help meddling? Though, indeed, I haven't meddled at all, if
  you want to know the truth of the matter. I kept quiet from the very
  beginning, not daring to answer; but he pitched on me to be his servant.
  He has had only one thing to say since: 'I'll kill you, you scoundrel, if
  you miss her,' I feel certain, sir, that I shall have a long fit to-
  morrow."
  
  "What do you mean by 'a long fit'?"
  
  "A long fit, lasting a long time--several hours, or perhaps a day or two.
  Once it went on for three days. I fell from the garret that time. The
  struggling ceased and then began again, and for three days I couldn't come
  back to my senses. Fyodor Pavlovitch sent for Herzenstube, the doctor
  here, and he put ice on my head and tried another remedy, too.... I might
  have died."
  
  "But they say one can't tell with epilepsy when a fit is coming. What
  makes you say you will have one to-morrow?" Ivan inquired, with a
  peculiar, irritable curiosity.
  
  "That's just so. You can't tell beforehand."
  
  "Besides, you fell from the garret then."
  
  "I climb up to the garret every day. I might fall from the garret again
  to-morrow. And, if not, I might fall down the cellar steps. I have to go
  into the cellar every day, too."
  
  Ivan took a long look at him.
  
  "You are talking nonsense, I see, and I don't quite understand you," he
  said softly, but with a sort of menace. "Do you mean to pretend to be ill
  to-morrow for three days, eh?"
  
  Smerdyakov, who was looking at the ground again, and playing with the toe
  of his right foot, set the foot down, moved the left one forward, and,
  grinning, articulated:
  
  "If I were able to play such a trick, that is, pretend to have a fit--and
  it would not be difficult for a man accustomed to them--I should have a
  perfect right to use such a means to save myself from death. For even if
  Agrafena Alexandrovna comes to see his father while I am ill, his honor
  can't blame a sick man for not telling him. He'd be ashamed to."
  
  "Hang it all!" Ivan cried, his face working with anger, "why are you
  always in such a funk for your life? All my brother Dmitri's threats are
  only hasty words and mean nothing. He won't kill you; it's not you he'll
  kill!"
  
  "He'd kill me first of all, like a fly. But even more than that, I am
  afraid I shall be taken for an accomplice of his when he does something
  crazy to his father."
  
  "Why should you be taken for an accomplice?"
  
  "They'll think I am an accomplice, because I let him know the signals as a
  great secret."
  
  "What signals? Whom did you tell? Confound you, speak more plainly."
  
  "I'm bound to admit the fact," Smerdyakov drawled with pedantic composure,
  "that I have a secret with Fyodor Pavlovitch in this business. As you know
  yourself (if only you do know it) he has for several days past locked
  himself in as soon as night or even evening comes on. Of late you've been
  going upstairs to your room early every evening, and yesterday you did not
  come down at all, and so perhaps you don't know how carefully he has begun
  to lock himself in at night, and even if Grigory Vassilyevitch comes to
  the door he won't open to him till he hears his voice. But Grigory
  Vassilyevitch does not come, because I wait upon him alone in his room
  now. That's the arrangement he made himself ever since this to-do with
  Agrafena Alexandrovna began. But at night, by his orders, I go away to the
  lodge so that I don't get to sleep till midnight, but am on the watch,
  getting up and walking about the yard, waiting for Agrafena Alexandrovna
  to come. For the last few days he's been perfectly frantic expecting her.
  What he argues is, she is afraid of him, Dmitri Fyodorovitch (Mitya, as he
  calls him), 'and so,' says he, 'she'll come the back-way, late at night,
  to me. You look out for her,' says he, 'till midnight and later; and if
  she does come, you run up and knock at my door or at the window from the
  garden. Knock at first twice, rather gently, and then three times more
  quickly, then,' says he, 'I shall understand at once that she has come,
  and will open the door to you quietly.' Another signal he gave me in case
  anything unexpected happens. At first, two knocks, and then, after an
  interval, another much louder. Then he will understand that something has
  happened suddenly and that I must see him, and he will open to me so that
  I can go and speak to him. That's all in case Agrafena Alexandrovna can't
  come herself, but sends a message. Besides, Dmitri Fyodorovitch might
  come, too, so I must let him know he is near. His honor is awfully afraid
  of Dmitri Fyodorovitch, so that even if Agrafena Alexandrovna had come and
  were locked in with him, and Dmitri Fyodorovitch were to turn up anywhere
  near at the time, I should be bound to let him know at once, knocking
  three times. So that the first signal of five knocks means Agrafena
  Alexandrovna has come, while the second signal of three knocks means
  'something important to tell you.' His honor has shown me them several
  times and explained them. And as in the whole universe no one knows of
  these signals but myself and his honor, so he'd open the door without the
  slightest hesitation and without calling out (he is awfully afraid of
  calling out aloud). Well, those signals are known to Dmitri Fyodorovitch
  too, now."
  
  "How are they known? Did you tell him? How dared you tell him?"
  
  "It was through fright I did it. How could I dare to keep it back from
  him? Dmitri Fyodorovitch kept persisting every day, 'You are deceiving me,
  you are hiding something from me! I'll break both your legs for you.' So I
  told him those secret signals that he might see my slavish devotion, and
  might be satisfied that I was not deceiving him, but was telling him all I
  could."
  
  "If you think that he'll make use of those signals and try to get in,
  don't let him in."
  
  "But if I should be laid up with a fit, how can I prevent him coming in
  then, even if I dared prevent him, knowing how desperate he is?"
  
  "Hang it! How can you be so sure you are going to have a fit, confound
  you? Are you laughing at me?"
  
  "How could I dare laugh at you? I am in no laughing humor with this fear
  on me. I feel I am going to have a fit. I have a presentiment. Fright
  alone will bring it on."
  
  "Confound it! If you are laid up, Grigory will be on the watch. Let
  Grigory know beforehand; he will be sure not to let him in."
  
  "I should never dare to tell Grigory Vassilyevitch about the signals
  without orders from my master. And as for Grigory Vassilyevitch hearing
  him and not admitting him, he has been ill ever since yesterday, and Marfa
  Ignatyevna intends to give him medicine to-morrow. They've just arranged
  it. It's a very strange remedy of hers. Marfa Ignatyevna knows of a
  preparation and always keeps it. It's a strong thing made from some herb.
  She has the secret of it, and she always gives it to Grigory Vassilyevitch
  three times a year when his lumbago's so bad he is almost paralyzed by it.
  Then she takes a towel, wets it with the stuff, and rubs his whole back
  for half an hour till it's quite red and swollen, and what's left in the
  bottle she gives him to drink with a special prayer; but not quite all,
  for on such occasions she leaves some for herself, and drinks it herself.
  And as they never take strong drink, I assure you they both drop asleep at
  once and sleep sound a very long time. And when Grigory Vassilyevitch
  wakes up he is perfectly well after it, but Marfa Ignatyevna always has a
  headache from it. So, if Marfa Ignatyevna carries out her intention to-
  morrow, they won't hear anything and hinder Dmitri Fyodorovitch. They'll
  be asleep."
  
  "What a rigmarole! And it all seems to happen at once, as though it were
  planned. You'll have a fit and they'll both be unconscious," cried Ivan.
  "But aren't you trying to arrange it so?" broke from him suddenly, and he
  frowned threateningly.
  
  "How could I?... And why should I, when it all depends on Dmitri
  Fyodorovitch and his plans?... If he means to do anything, he'll do it;
  but if not, I shan't be thrusting him upon his father."
  
  "And why should he go to father, especially on the sly, if, as you say
  yourself, Agrafena Alexandrovna won't come at all?" Ivan went on, turning
  white with anger. "You say that yourself, and all the while I've been
  here, I've felt sure it was all the old man's fancy, and the creature
  won't come to him. Why should Dmitri break in on him if she doesn't come?
  Speak, I want to know what you are thinking!"
  
  "You know yourself why he'll come. What's the use of what I think? His
  honor will come simply because he is in a rage or suspicious on account of
  my illness perhaps, and he'll dash in, as he did yesterday through
  impatience to search the rooms, to see whether she hasn't escaped him on
  the sly. He is perfectly well aware, too, that Fyodor Pavlovitch has a big
  envelope with three thousand roubles in it, tied up with ribbon and sealed
  with three seals. On it is written in his own hand, 'To my angel
  Grushenka, if she will come,' to which he added three days later, 'for my
  little chicken.' There's no knowing what that might do."
  
  "Nonsense!" cried Ivan, almost beside himself. "Dmitri won't come to steal
  money and kill my father to do it. He might have killed him yesterday on
  account of Grushenka, like the frantic, savage fool he is, but he won't
  steal."
  
  "He is in very great need of money now--the greatest need, Ivan
  Fyodorovitch. You don't know in what need he is," Smerdyakov explained,
  with perfect composure and remarkable distinctness. "He looks on that
  three thousand as his own, too. He said so to me himself. 'My father still
  owes me just three thousand,' he said. And besides that, consider, Ivan
  Fyodorovitch, there is something else perfectly true. It's as good as
  certain, so to say, that Agrafena Alexandrovna will force him, if only she
  cares to, to marry her--the master himself, I mean, Fyodor Pavlovitch--if
  only she cares to, and of course she may care to. All I've said is that
  she won't come, but maybe she's looking for more than that--I mean to be
  mistress here. I know myself that Samsonov, her merchant, was laughing
  with her about it, telling her quite openly that it would not be at all a
  stupid thing to do. And she's got plenty of sense. She wouldn't marry a
  beggar like Dmitri Fyodorovitch. So, taking that into consideration, Ivan
  Fyodorovitch, reflect that then neither Dmitri Fyodorovitch nor yourself
  and your brother, Alexey Fyodorovitch, would have anything after the
  master's death, not a rouble, for Agrafena Alexandrovna would marry him
  simply to get hold of the whole, all the money there is. But if your
  father were to die now, there'd be some forty thousand for sure, even for
  Dmitri Fyodorovitch whom he hates so, for he's made no will.... Dmitri
  Fyodorovitch knows all that very well."
  
  A sort of shudder passed over Ivan's face. He suddenly flushed.
  
  "Then why on earth," he suddenly interrupted Smerdyakov, "do you advise me
  to go to Tchermashnya? What did you mean by that? If I go away, you see
  what will happen here." Ivan drew his breath with difficulty.
  
  "Precisely so," said Smerdyakov, softly and reasonably, watching Ivan
  intently, however.
  
  "What do you mean by 'precisely so'?" Ivan questioned him, with a menacing
  light in his eyes, restraining himself with difficulty.
  
  "I spoke because I felt sorry for you. If I were in your place I should
  simply throw it all up ... rather than stay on in such a position,"
  answered Smerdyakov, with the most candid air looking at Ivan's flashing
  eyes. They were both silent.
  
  "You seem to be a perfect idiot, and what's more ... an awful scoundrel,
  too." Ivan rose suddenly from the bench. He was about to pass straight
  through the gate, but he stopped short and turned to Smerdyakov. Something
  strange followed. Ivan, in a sudden paroxysm, bit his lip, clenched his
  fists, and, in another minute, would have flung himself on Smerdyakov. The
  latter, anyway, noticed it at the same moment, started, and shrank back.
  But the moment passed without mischief to Smerdyakov, and Ivan turned in
  silence, as it seemed in perplexity, to the gate.
  
  "I am going away to Moscow to-morrow, if you care to know--early to-morrow
  morning. That's all!" he suddenly said aloud angrily, and wondered himself
  afterwards what need there was to say this then to Smerdyakov.
  
  "That's the best thing you can do," he responded, as though he had
  expected to hear it; "except that you can always be telegraphed for from
  Moscow, if anything should happen here."
  
  Ivan stopped again, and again turned quickly to Smerdyakov. But a change
  had passed over him, too. All his familiarity and carelessness had
  completely disappeared. His face expressed attention and expectation,
  intent but timid and cringing.
  
  "Haven't you something more to say--something to add?" could be read in the
  intent gaze he fixed on Ivan.
  
  "And couldn't I be sent for from Tchermashnya, too--in case anything
  happened?" Ivan shouted suddenly, for some unknown reason raising his
  voice.
  
  "From Tchermashnya, too ... you could be sent for," Smerdyakov muttered,
  almost in a whisper, looking disconcerted, but gazing intently into Ivan's
  eyes.
  
  "Only Moscow is farther and Tchermashnya is nearer. Is it to save my
  spending money on the fare, or to save my going so far out of my way, that
  you insist on Tchermashnya?"
  
  "Precisely so ..." muttered Smerdyakov, with a breaking voice. He looked
  at Ivan with a revolting smile, and again made ready to draw back. But to
  his astonishment Ivan broke into a laugh, and went through the gate still
  laughing. Any one who had seen his face at that moment would have known
  that he was not laughing from lightness of heart, and he could not have
  explained himself what he was feeling at that instant. He moved and walked
  as though in a nervous frenzy.
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Book 5, Chapter 6
target: As Ivan heads back to his father's house, he feels increasingly troubled. When he arrives, he sees Smerdyakov sitting on a bench outside and is suddenly overwhelmed by his intense loathing for him. But despite this, he finds himself sitting down on the bench to talk with Smerdyakov. Smerdyakov asks Ivan why he doesn't go to Chermashnya, and Ivan is confused by his question. Smerdyakov then babbles a bit about how concerned he is by the trouble between Dmitri and Fyodor, and how worried he is that Dmitri will kill him for conspiring with Fyodor. He wonders whether he'll get an attack of "falling sickness" the next day. Ivan thinks Smerdyakov is being absurd because he isn't supposed to be able to predict when his epileptic fits will come on. Smerdyakov then worries that he'll be considered Dmitri's accomplice just in case Dmitri does end up killing Fyodor, because he's told Dmitri about the secret signals. If Grushenka arrives to accept Fyodor's money, Smerdyakov and Fyodor have agreed on a special knock to announce her arrival. Ivan gets even more irritated, but Smerdyakov continues on to tell him that Grigory, Fyodor's faithful servant, is knocked out from the tonic he takes for his back troubles, and his wife Marfa has taken a sip too. If Smerdyakov does have a fit, there will be no one to prevent Dmitri from attacking Fyodor and stealing his money. Ivan wants to know why Smerdyakov is so convinced that Dmitri will kill Fyodor. Smerdyakov says if Grushenka were to seduce Fyodor, she would convince him to sign over their inheritance to her. Ivan asks whether that's the real reason Smerdyakov wants Ivan to go to Chermashnya instead of Moscow - Chermashnya is closer just in case Dmitri does commit the murder. Smerdyakov is so irritating at this point that Ivan is about to punch him, but instead he walks away laughing.