The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (best e book reader for android txt) 📖

ask both sides to formulate their

conclusions. But I will not describe the details. At last the jury

rose to retire for consultation. The President was very tired, and

so his last charge to the jury was rather feeble. “Be impartial, don’t

be influenced by the eloquence of the defence, but yet weigh the

arguments. Remember that there is a great responsibility laid upon

you,” and so on and so on.

 

The jury withdrew and the court adjourned. People could get up,

move about, exchange their accumulated impressions, refresh themselves

at the buffet. It was very late, almost one o’clock in the night,

but nobody went away: the strain was so great that no one could

think of repose. All waited with sinking hearts; though that is,

perhaps, too much to say, for the ladies were only in a state of

hysterical impatience and their hearts were untroubled. An

acquittal, they thought, was inevitable. They all prepared

themselves for a dramatic moment of general enthusiasm. I must own

there were many among the men, too, who were convinced that an

acquittal was inevitable. Some were pleased, others frowned, while

some were simply dejected, not wanting him to be acquitted.

Fetyukovitch himself was confident of his success. He was surrounded

by people congratulating him and fawning upon him.

 

“There are,” he said to one group, as I was told afterwards,

“there are invisible threads binding the counsel for the defence

with the jury. One feels during one’s speech if they are being formed.

I was aware of them. They exist. Our cause is won. Set your mind at

rest.”

 

“What will our peasants say now?” said one stout, cross-looking,

pock-marked gentleman, a landowner of the neighbourhood, approaching a

group of gentlemen engaged in conversation.

 

“But they are not all peasants. There are four government clerks

among them.”

 

“Yes, there are clerks,” said a member of the district council,

joining the group.

 

“And do you know that Nazaryev, the merchant with the medal, a

juryman?”

 

“What of him?”

 

“He is a man with brains.”

 

“But he never speaks.”

 

“He is no great talker, but so much the better. There’s no need

for the Petersburg man to teach him: he could teach all Petersburg

himself. He’s the father of twelve children. Think of that!”

 

“Upon my word, you don’t suppose they won’t acquit him?” one of

our young officials exclaimed in another group.

 

“They’ll acquit him for certain,” said a resolute voice.

 

“It would be shameful, disgraceful, not to acquit him cried the

official. “Suppose he did murder him-there are fathers and fathers!

And, besides, he was in such a frenzy…. He really may have done

nothing but swing the pestle in the air, and so knocked the old man

down. But it was a pity they dragged the valet in. That was simply

an absurd theory! If I’d been in Fetyukovitch’s place, I should simply

have said straight out: ‘He murdered him; but he is not guilty, hang

it all!’

 

“That’s what he did, only without saying, ‘Hang it all!’”

 

“No, Mihail Semyonovitch, he almost said that, too,” put in a

third voice.

 

“Why, gentlemen, in Lent an actress was acquitted in our town

who had cut the throat of her lover’s lawful wife.”

 

“Oh, but she did not finish cutting it.”

 

“That makes no difference. She began cutting it.”

 

“What did you think of what he said about children? Splendid,

wasn’t it?”

 

“Splended!”

 

“And about mysticism, too!”

 

“Oh, drop mysticism, do!” cried someone else; “think of Ippolit

and his fate from this day forth. His wife will scratch his eyes out

to-morrow for Mitya’s sake.”

 

“Is she here?”

 

“What an idea! If she’d been here she’d have scratched them out in

court. She is at home with toothache. He he he!”

 

“He he he!”

 

In a third group:

 

“I dare say they will acquit Mitenka, after all.”

 

“I should not be surprised if he turns the Metropolis upside

down to-morrow. He will be drinking for ten days!”

 

“Oh, the devil!”

 

“The devil’s bound to have a hand in it. Where should he be if not

here?”

 

“Well, gentlemen, I admit it was eloquent. But still it’s not

the thing to break your father’s head with a pestle! Or what are we

coming to?”

 

“The chariot! Do you remember the chariot?”

 

“Yes; he turned a cart into a chariot!”

 

“And to-morrow he will turn a chariot into a cart, just to suit

his purpose.”

 

“What cunning chaps there are nowadays! Is there any justice to be

had in Russia?”

 

But the bell rang. The jury deliberated for exactly an hour,

neither more nor less. A profound silence reigned in the court as soon

as the public had taken their seats. I remember how the jurymen walked

into the court. At last! I won’t repeat the questions in order, and,

indeed, I have forgotten them. I remember only the answer to the

President’s first and chief question: “Did the prisoner commit the

murder for the sake of robbery and with premeditation?” (I don’t

remember the exact words.) There was a complete hush. The foreman of

the jury, the youngest of the clerks, pronounced, in a clear, loud

voice, amidst the deathlike stillness of the court:

 

“Yes, guilty!”

 

And the same answer was repeated to every question: “Yes, guilty!”

and without the slightest extenuating comment. This no one had

expected; almost everyone had reckoned upon a recommendation to mercy,

at least. The deathlike silence in the court was not broken-all

seemed petrified: those who desired his conviction as well as those

who had been eager for his acquittal. But that was only for the

first instant, and it was followed by a fearful hubbub. Many of the

men in the audience were pleased. Some were rubbing their hands with

no attempt to conceal their joy. Those who disagreed with the

verdict seemed crushed, shrugged their shoulders, whispered, but still

seemed unable to realise this. But how shall I describe the state

the ladies were in? I thought they would create a riot. At first

they could scarcely believe their ears. Then suddenly the whole

court rang with exclamations: “What’s the meaning of it? What next?”

They leapt up from their places. They seemed to fancy that it might be

at once reconsidered and reversed. At that instant Mitya suddenly

stood up and cried in a heart-rending voice, stretching his hands

out before him:

 

“I swear by God and the dreadful Day of Judgment I am not guilty

of my father’s blood! Katya, I forgive you! Brothers, friends, have

pity on the other woman!”

 

He could not go on, and broke into a terrible sobbing wail that

was heard all over the court in a strange, unnatural voice unlike

his own. From the farthest corner at the back of the gallery came a

piercing shriek-it was Grushenka. She had succeeded in begging

admittance to the court again before the beginning of the lawyers’

speeches. Mitya was taken away. The passing of the sentence was

deferred till next day. The whole court was in a hubbub but I did

not wait to hear. I only remember a few exclamations I heard on the

steps as I went out.

 

“He’ll have a twenty years’ trip to the mines!”

 

“Not less.”

 

“Well, our peasants have stood firm.”

 

“And have done for our Mitya.”