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Reading books fiction Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself.



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Read books online » Fiction » The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (best e book reader for android txt) 📖

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malicious prejudice

against the prisoner. But there are things which are even worse,

even more fatal in such cases, than the most malicious and consciously

unfair attitude. It is worse if we are carried away by the artistic

instinct, by the desire to create, so to speak, a romance,

especially if God has endowed us with psychological insight. Before

I started on my way here, I was warned in Petersburg, and was myself

aware, that I should find here a talented opponent whose psychological

insight and subtlety had gained him peculiar renown in legal circles

of recent years. But profound as psychology is, it’s a knife that cuts

both ways.” (Laughter among the public.) “You will, of course, forgive

me my comparison; I can’t boast of eloquence. But I will take as an

example any point in the prosecutor’s speech.

 

“The prisoner, running away in the garden in the dark, climbed

over the fence, was seized by the servant, and knocked him down with a

brass pestle. Then he jumped back into the garden and spent five

minutes over the man, trying to discover whether he had killed him

or not. And the prosecutor refuses to believe the prisoner’s statement

that he ran to old Grigory out of pity. ‘No,’ he says, ‘such

sensibility is impossible at such a moment, that’s unnatural; he ran

to find out whether the only witness of his crime was dead or alive,

and so showed that he had committed the murder, since he would not

have run back for any other reason.’

 

“Here you have psychology; but let us take the same method and

apply it to the case the other way round, and our result will be no

less probable. The murderer, we are told, leapt down to find out, as a

precaution, whether the witness was alive or not, yet he had left in

his murdered father’s study, as the prosecutor himself argues, an

amazing piece of evidence in the shape of a torn envelope, with an

inscription that there had been three thousand roubles in it. ‘If he

had carried that envelope away with him, no one in the world would

have known of that envelope and of the notes in it, and that the money

had been stolen by the prisoner.’ Those are the prosecutor’s own

words. So on one side you see a complete absence of precaution, a

man who has lost his head and run away in a fright, leaving that

clue on the floor, and two minutes later, when he has killed another

man, we are entitled to assume the most heartless and calculating

foresight in him. But even admitting this was so, it is

psychological subtlety, I suppose, that discerns that under certain

circumstances I become as bloodthirsty and keen-sighted as a Caucasian

eagle, while at the next I am as timid and blind as a mole. But if I

am so bloodthirsty and cruelly calculating that when I kill a man I

only run back to find out whether he is alive to witness against me,

why should I spend five minutes looking after my victim at the risk of

encountering other witnesses? Why soak my handkerchief, wiping the

blood off his head so that it may be evidence against me later? If

he were so cold-hearted and calculating, why not hit the servant on

the head again and again with the same pestle so as to kill him

outright and relieve himself of all anxiety about the witness?

 

“Again, though he ran to see whether the witness was alive, he

left another witness on the path, that brass pestle which he had taken

from the two women, and which they could always recognise afterwards

as theirs, and prove that he had taken it from them. And it is not

as though he had forgotten it on the path, dropped it through

carelessness or haste, no, he had flung away his weapon, for it was

found fifteen paces from where Grigory lay. Why did he do so? just

because he was grieved at having killed a man, an old servant; and

he flung away the pestle with a curse, as a murderous weapon. That’s

how it must have been, what other reason could he have had for

throwing it so far? And if he was capable of feeling grief and pity at

having killed a man, it shows that he was innocent of his father’s

murder. Had he murdered him, he would never have run to another victim

out of pity; then he would have felt differently; his thoughts would

have been centred on self-preservation. He would have had none to

spare for pity, that is beyond doubt. On the contrary, he would have

broken his skull instead of spending five minutes looking after him.

There was room for pity and good-feeling just because his conscience

had been clear till then. Here we have a different psychology. I

have purposely resorted to this method, gentlemen of the jury, to show

that you can prove anything by it. It all depends on who makes use

of it. Psychology lures even most serious people into romancing, and

quite unconsciously. I am speaking of the abuse of psychology,

gentlemen.”

 

Sounds of approval and laughter, at the expense of the prosecutor,

were again audible in the court. I will not repeat the speech in

detail; I will only quote some passages from it, some leading points.

Chapter 11

There Was No Money. There Was No Robbery

 

THERE was one point that struck everyone in Fetyukovitch’s speech.

He flatly denied the existence of the fatal three thousand roubles,

and consequently, the possibility of their having been stolen.

 

“Gentlemen of the jury,” he began. “Every new and unprejudiced

observer must be struck by a characteristic peculiarity in the present

case, namely, the charge of robbery, and the complete impossibility of

proving that there was anything to be stolen. We are told that money

was stolen-three thousand roubles but whether those roubles ever

existed, nobody knows. Consider, how have we heard of that sum, and

who has seen the notes? The only person who saw them, and stated

that they had been put in the envelope, was the servant, Smerdyakov.

He had spoken of it to the prisoner and his brother, Ivan

Fyodorovitch, before the catastrophe. Madame Svyetlov, too, had been

told of it. But not one of these three persons had actually seen the

notes, no one but Smerdyakov had seen them.

 

“Here the question arises, if it’s true that they did exist, and

that Smerdyakov had seen them, when did he see them for the last time?

What if his master had taken the notes from under his bed and put them

back in his cash-box without telling him? Note, that according to

Smerdyakov’s story the notes were kept under the mattress; the

prisoner must have pulled them out, and yet the bed was absolutely

unrumpled; that is carefully recorded in the protocol. How could the

prisoner have found the notes without disturbing the bed? How could he

have helped soiling with his bloodstained hands the fine and spotless

linen with which the bed had been purposely made?

 

“But I shall be asked: What about the envelope on the floor?

Yes, it’s worth saying a word or two about that envelope. I was

somewhat surprised just now to hear the highly talented prosecutor

declare of himself-of himself, observe-that but for that envelope,

but for its being left on the floor, no one in the world would have

known of the existence of that envelope and the notes in it, and

therefore of the prisoner’s having stolen it. And so that torn scrap

of paper is, by the prosecutor’s own admission, the sole proof on

which the charge of robbery rests, ‘otherwise no one would have

known of the robbery, nor perhaps even of the money.’ But is the

mere fact that that scrap of paper was lying on the floor a proof that

there was money in it, and that that money had been stolen? Yet, it

will be objected, Smerdyakov had seen the money in the envelope. But

when, when had he seen it for the last time, I ask you that? I

talked to Smerdyakov, and he told me that he had seen the notes two

days before the catastrophe. Then why not imagine that old Fyodor

Pavlovitch, locked up alone in impatient and hysterical expectation of

the object of his adoration, may have whiled away the time by breaking

open the envelope and taking out the notes. ‘What’s the use of the

envelope?’ he may have asked himself. ‘She won’t believe the notes are

there, but when I show her the thirty rainbow-coloured notes in one

roll, it will make more impression, you may be sure, it will make

her mouth water.’ And so he tears open the envelope, takes out the

money, and flings the envelope on the floor, conscious of being the

owner and untroubled by any fears of leaving evidence.

 

“Listen, gentlemen, could anything be more likely than this theory

and such an action? Why is it out of the question? But if anything

of the sort could have taken place, the charge of robbery falls to the

ground; if there was no money, there was no theft of it. If the

envelope on the floor may be taken as evidence that there had been

money in it, why may I not maintain the opposite, that the envelope

was on the floor because the money had been taken from it by its

owner?

 

“But I shall be asked what became of the money if Fyodor

Pavlovitch took it out of the envelope since it was not found when the

police searched the house? In the first place, part of the money was

found in the cash-box, and secondly, he might have taken it out that

morning or the evening before to make some other use of it, to give or

send it away; he may have changed his idea, his plan of action

completely, without thinking it necessary to announce the fact to

Smerdyakov beforehand. And if there is the barest possibility of

such an explanation, how can the prisoner be so positively accused

of having committed murder for the sake of robbery, and of having

actually carried out that robbery? This is encroaching on the domain

of romance. If it is maintained that something has been stolen, the

thing must be produced, or at least its existence must be proved

beyond doubt. Yet no one had ever seen these notes.

 

“Not long ago in Petersburg a young man of eighteen, hardly more

than a boy, who carried on a small business as a costermonger, went in

broad daylight into a moneychanger’s shop with an axe, and with

extraordinary, typical audacity killed the master of the shop and

carried off fifteen hundred roubles. Five hours later he was arrested,

and, except fifteen roubles he had already managed to spend, the whole

sum was found on him. Moreover, the shopman, on his return to the shop

after the murder, informed the police not only of the exact sum

stolen, but even of the notes and gold coins of which that sum was

made up, and those very notes and coins were found on the criminal.

This was followed by a full and genuine confession on the part of

the murderer. That’s what I call evidence, gentlemen of the jury! In

that case I know, I see, I touch the money, and cannot deny its

existence. Is it the same in the present case? And yet it is a

question of life and death.

 

“Yes, I shall be told, but he was carousing that night,

squandering money; he was shown to have had fifteen hundred roubles-where did he get the money? But the very fact that only fifteen

hundred could be

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