The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (best e book reader for android txt) đ
- Author: Fyodor Dostoyevsky
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did this murder actually take place? Gentlemen of the jury, if we
convict and punish him, he will say to himself: âThese people have
done nothing for my bringing up, for my education, nothing to
improve my lot, nothing to make me better, nothing to make me a man.
These people have not given me to eat and to drink, have not visited
me in prison and nakedness, and here they have sent me to penal
servitude. I am quits, I owe them nothing now, and owe no one anything
for ever. They are wicked and I will be wicked. They are cruel and I
will be cruel.â That is what he will say, gentlemen of the jury. And I
swear, by finding him guilty you will only make it easier for him: you
will ease his conscience, he will curse the blood he has shed and will
not regret it. At the same time you will destroy in him the
possibility of becoming a new man, for he will remain in his
wickedness and blindness all his life.
âBut do you want to punish him fearfully, terribly, with the
most awful punishment that could be imagined, and at the same time
to save him and regenerate his soul? If so, overwhelm him with your
mercy! You will see, you will hear how he will tremble and be
horror-struck. âHow can I endure this mercy? How can I endure so
much love? Am I worthy of it?â Thatâs what he will exclaim.
âOh, I know, I know that heart, that wild but grateful heart,
gentlemen of the jury! It will bow before your mercy; it thirsts for a
great and loving action, it will melt and mount upwards. There are
souls which, in their limitation, blame the whole world. But subdue
such a soul with mercy, show it love, and it will curse its past,
for there are many good impulses in it. Such a heart will expand and
see that God is merciful and that men are good and just. He will be
horror-stricken; he will be crushed by remorse and the vast obligation
laid upon him henceforth. And he will not say then, âI am quits,â
but will say, âI am guilty in the sight of all men and am more
unworthy than all.â With tears of penitence and poignant, tender
anguish, he will exclaim: âOthers are better than I, they wanted to
save me, not to ruin me!â Oh, this act of mercy is so easy for you,
for in the absence of anything like real evidence it will be too awful
for you to pronounce: âYes, he is guilty.â
âBetter acquit ten guilty men than punish one innocent man! Do you
hear, do you hear that majestic voice from the past century of our
glorious history? It is not for an insignificant person like me to
remind you that the Russian court does not exist for the punishment
only, but also for the salvation of the criminal! Let other nations
think of retribution and the letter of the law, we will cling to the
spirit and the meaning-the salvation and the reformation of the lost.
If this is true, if Russia and her justice are such, she may go
forward with good cheer! Do not try to scare us with your frenzied
troikas from which all the nations stand aside in disgust. Not a
runaway troika, but the stately chariot of Russia will move calmly and
majestically to its goal. In your hands is the fate of my client, in
your hands is the fate of Russian justice. You will defend it, you
will save it, you will prove that there are men to watch over it, that
it is in good hands!â
The Peasants Stand Firm
THIS was how Fetyukovitch concluded his speech, and the enthusiasm
of the audience burst like an irresistible storm. It was out of the
question to stop it: the women wept, many of the men wept too, even
two important personages shed tears. The President submitted, and even
postponed ringing his bell. The suppression of such an enthusiasm
would be the suppression of something sacred, as the ladies cried
afterwards. The orator himself was genuinely touched.
And it was at this moment that Ippolit Kirillovitch got up to make
certain objections. People looked at him with hatred. âWhat? Whatâs
the meaning of it? He positively dares to make objections,â the ladies
babbled. But if the whole world of ladies, including his wife, had
protested he could not have been stopped at that moment. He was
pale, he was shaking with emotion, his first phrases were even
unintelligible, he gasped for breath, could hardly speak clearly, lost
the thread. But he soon recovered himself. Of this new speech of his I
will quote only a few sentences.
â⊠I am reproached with having woven a romance. But what is this
defence if not one romance on the top of another? All that was lacking
was poetry. Fyodor Pavlovitch, while waiting for his mistress, tears
open the envelope and throws it on the floor. We are even told what he
said while engaged in this strange act. Is not this a flight of fancy?
And what proof have we that he had taken out the money? Who heard what
he said? The weak-minded idiot, Smerdyakov, transformed into a Byronic
hero, avenging society for his illegitimate birth-isnât this a
romance in the Byronic style? And the son who breaks into his fatherâs
house and murders him without murdering him is not even a romance-this is a sphinx setting us a riddle which he cannot solve himself. If
he murdered him, he murdered him, and whatâs the meaning of his
murdering him without having murdered him-who can make head or tail
of this?
âThen we are admonished that our tribune is a tribune of true
and sound ideas and from this tribune of âsound ideasâ is heard a
solemn declaration that to call the murder of a father âparricideâ
is nothing but a prejudice! But if parricide is a prejudice, and if
every child is to ask his father why he is to love him, what will
become of us? What will become of the foundations of society? What
will become of the family? Parricide, it appears, is only a bogy of
Moscow merchantsâ wives. The most precious, the most sacred guarantees
for the destiny and future of Russian justice are presented to us in a
perverted and frivolous form, simply to attain an object-to obtain
the justification of something which cannot be justified. âOh, crush
him by mercy,â cries the counsel for the defence; but thatâs all the
criminal wants, and to-morrow it will be seen how much he is
crushed. And is not the counsel for the defence too modest in asking
only for the acquittal of the prisoner? Why not found a charity in the
honour of the parricide to commemorate his exploit among future
generations? Religion and the Gospel are corrected-thatâs all
mysticism, we are told, and ours is the only true Christianity which
has been subjected to the analysis of reason and common sense. And
so they set up before us a false semblance of Christ! âWhat measure ye
mete so it shall be meted unto you again,â cried the counsel for the
defence, and instantly deduces that Christ teaches us to measure as it
is measured to us and this from the tribune of truth and sound
sense! We peep into the Gospel only on the eve of making speeches,
in order to dazzle the audience by our acquaintance with what is,
anyway, a rather original composition, which may be of use to
produce a certain effect-all to serve the purpose! But what Christ
commands us is something very different: He bids us beware of doing
this, because the wicked world does this, but we ought to forgive
and to turn the other cheek, and not to measure to our persecutors
as they measure to us. This is what our God has taught us and not that
to forbid children to murder their fathers is a prejudice. And we will
not from the tribune of truth and good sense correct the Gospel of our
Lord, Whom the counsel for the defence deigns to call only âthe
crucified lover of humanity,â in opposition to all orthodox Russia,
which calls to Him, âFor Thou art our God!ââ
At this the President intervened and checked the over-zealous
speaker, begging him not to exaggerate, not to overstep the bounds,
and so on, as presidents always do in such cases. The audience, too,
was uneasy. The public was restless: there were even exclamations of
indignation. Fetyukovitch did not so much as reply; he only mounted
the tribune to lay his hand on his heart and, with an offended
voice, utter a few words full of dignity. He only touched again,
lightly and ironically, on âromancingâ and âpsychology,â and in an
appropriate place quoted, âJupiter, you are angry, therefore you are
wrong,â which provoked a burst of approving laughter in the
audience, for Ippolit Kirillovitch was by no means like Jupiter. Then,
a propos of the accusation that he was teaching the young generation
to murder their fathers, Fetyukovitch observed, with great dignity,
that he would not even answer. As for the prosecutorâs charge of
uttering unorthodox opinions, Fetyukovitch hinted that it was a
personal insinuation and that he had expected in this court to be
secure from accusations âdamaging to my reputation as a citizen and
a loyal subject.â But at these words the President pulled him up, too,
and Fetyukovitch concluded his speech with a bow, amid a hum of
approbation in the court. And Ippolit Kirillovitch was, in the opinion
of our ladies, âcrushed for good.â
Then the prisoner was allowed to speak. Mitya stood up, but said
very little. He was fearfully exhausted, physically and mentally.
The look of strength and independence with which he had entered in the
morning had almost disappeared. He seemed as though he had passed
through an experience that day, which had taught him for the rest of
his life something very important he had not understood till then. His
voice was weak, he did not shout as before. In his words there was a
new note of humility, defeat and submission.
âWhat am I to say, gentlemen of the jury? The hour of judgment has
come for me, I feel the hand of God upon me! The end has come to an
erring man! But, before God, I repeat to you, I am innocent of my
fatherâs blood! For the last time I repeat, it wasnât I killed him!
I was erring, but I loved what is good. Every instant I strove to
reform, but I lived like a wild beast. I thank the prosecutor, he told
me many things about myself that I did not know; but itâs not true
that I killed my father, the prosecutor is mistaken. I thank my
counsel, too. I cried listening to him; but itâs not true that I
killed my father, and he neednât have supposed it. And donât believe
the doctors. I am perfectly sane, only my heart is heavy. If you spare
me, if you let me go, I will pray for you. I will be a better man. I
give you my word before God I will! And if you will condemn me, Iâll
break my sword over my head myself and kiss the pieces. But spare
me, do not rob me of my God! I know myself, I shall rebel! My heart is
heavy, gentlemen⊠spare me!â
He almost fell back in his place: his voice broke: he could hardly
articulate the last phrase. Then the judges proceeded to put the
questions and began to
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