The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (reading an ebook TXT) 📗

or tail of it?” He attributed the

tragic crime to the habits that had become ingrained by ages of

serfdom and the distressed condition of Russia, due to the lack of

appropriate institutions. He was, in fact, allowed some latitude of

speech. This was the first occasion on which Rakitin showed what he

could do, and attracted notice. The prosecutor knew that the witness

was preparing a magazine article on the case, and afterwards in his

speech, as we shall see later, quoted some ideas from the article,

showing that he had seen it already. The picture drawn by the

witness was a gloomy and sinister one, and greatly strengthened the

case for the prosecution. Altogether, Rakatin’s discourse fascinated

the public by its independence and the extraordinary nobility of its

ideas. There were even two or three outbreaks of applause when he

spoke of serfdom and the distressed condition of Russia.

 

But Rakitin, in his youthful ardour, made a slight blunder, of

which the counsel for the defence at once adroitly took advantage.

Answering certain questions about Grushenka and carried away by the

loftiness of his own sentiments and his success, of which he was, of

course, conscious, he went so far as to speak somewhat

contemptuously of Agrafena Alexandrovna as “the kept mistress of

Samsonov.” He would have given a good deal to take back his words

afterwards, for Fetyukovitch caught him out over it at once. And it

was all because Rakitin had not reckoned on the lawyer having been

able to become so intimately acquainted with every detail in so

short a time.

 

“Allow me to ask,” began the counsel for the defence, with the

most affable and even respectful smile, “you are, of course, the

same Mr. Rakitin whose pamphlet, The Life of the Deceased Elder,

Father Zossima, published by the diocesan authorities, full of

profound and religious reflections and preceded by an excellent and

devout dedication to the bishop, I have just read with such pleasure?”

 

“I did not write it for publication… it was published

afterwards,” muttered Rakitin, for some reason fearfully

disconcerted and almost ashamed.

 

“Oh, that’s excellent! A thinker like you can, and indeed ought

to, take the widest view of every social question. Your most

instructive pamphlet has been widely circulated through the

patronage of the bishop, and has been of appreciable service…. But

this is the chief thing I should like to learn from you. You stated

just now that you were very intimately acquainted with Madame

Svyetlov.” (It must be noted that Grushenka’s surname was Svyetlov.

I heard it for the first time that day, during the case.)

 

“I cannot answer for all my acquaintances…. I am a young

man… and who can be responsible for everyone he meets?” cried

Rakitin, flushing all over.

 

“I understand, I quite understand,” cried Fetyukovitch; as

though he, too, were embarrassed and in haste to excuse himself. “You,

like any other, might well be interested in an acquaintance with a

young and beautiful woman who would readily entertain the elite of the

youth of the neighbourhood, but… I only wanted to know… It has

come to my knowledge, that Madame Svyetlov was particularly anxious

a couple of months ago to make the acquaintance of the younger

Karamazov, Alexey Fyodorovitch, and promised you twenty-five

roubles, if you would bring him to her in his monastic dress. And that

actually took place on the evening of the day on which the terrible

crime, which is the subject of the present investigation, was

committed. You brought Alexey Karamazov to Madame Svyetlov, and did

you receive the twenty-five roubles from Madame Svyetlov as a

reward, that’s what I wanted to hear from you?”

 

“It was a joke…. I don’t, see of what interest that can be to

you…. I took it for a joke… meaning to give it back later…”

 

“Then you did take-but you have not given it back yet… or

have you?”

 

“That’s of no consequence,” muttered Rakitin, “I refuse to

answer such questions…. Of course, I shall give it back.”

 

The President intervened, but Fetyukovitch declared he had no more

questions to ask of the witness. Mr. Rakitin left the witness-box

not absolutely without a stain upon his character. The effect left

by the lofty idealism of his speech was somewhat marred, and

Fetyukovitch’s expression, as he watched him walk away, seemed to

suggest to the public “this is a specimen of the lofty-minded

persons who accuse him.” I remember that this incident, too, did not

pass off without an outbreak from Mitya. Enraged by the tone in

which Rakitin had referred to Grushenka, he suddenly shouted

“Bernard!” When, after Rakitin’s cross-examination, the President

asked the prisoner if he had anything to say, Mitya cried loudly:

 

“Since I’ve been arrested, he has borrowed money from me! He is

a contemptible Bernard and opportunist, and he doesn’t believe in God;

he took the bishop in!”

 

Mitya of course, was pulled up again for the intemperance of his

language, but Rakitin was done for. Captain Snegiryov’s evidence was a

failure, too, but from quite a different reason. He appeared in ragged

and dirty clothes, muddy boots, and in spite of the vigilance and

expert observation of the police officers, he turned out to be

hopelessly drunk. On being asked about Mitya’s attack upon him, he

refused to answer.

 

“God bless him. Ilusha told me not to. God will make it up to me

yonder.”

 

“Who told you not to tell? Of whom are you talking?”

 

“Ilusha, my little son. ‘Father, father, how he insulted you!’

He said that at the stone. Now he is dying…”

 

The captain suddenly began sobbing, and plumped down on His

knees before the President. He was hurriedly led away amidst the

laughter of the public. The effect prepared by the prosecutor did

not come off at all.

 

Fetyukovitch went on making the most of every opportunity, and

amazed people more and more by his minute knowledge of the case. Thus,

for example, Trifon Borissovitch made a great impression, of course,

very prejudicial to Mitya. He calculated almost on his fingers that on

his first visit to Mokroe, Mitya must have spent three thousand

roubles, “or very little less. Just think what he squandered on

those gypsy girls alone! And as for our lousy peasants, it wasn’t a

case of flinging half a rouble in the street, he made them presents of

twenty-five roubles each, at least, he didn’t give them less. And what

a lot of money was simply stolen from him! And if anyone did steal, he

did not leave a receipt. How could one catch the thief when he was

flinging his money away all the time? Our peasants are robbers, you

know; they have no care for their souls. And the way he went on with

the girls, our village girls! They’re completely set up since then,

I tell you, they used to be poor.” He recalled, in fact, every item of

expense and added it all up. So the theory that only fifteen hundred

had been spent and the rest had been put aside in a little bag

seemed inconceivable.

 

“I saw three thousand as clear as a penny in his hands, I saw it

with my own eyes; I should think I ought to know how to reckon money,”

cried Trifon Borissovitch, doing his best to satisfy “his betters.”

 

When Fetyukovitch had to cross-examine him, he scarcely tried to

refute his evidence, but began asking him about an incident at the

first carousal at Mokroe, a month before the arrest, when Timofey

and another peasant called Akim had picked up on the floor in the

passage a hundred roubles dropped by Mitya when he was drunk, and

had given them to Trifon Borissovitch and received a rouble each

from him for doing so. “Well,” asked the lawyer,” did you give that

hundred roubles back to Mr. Karamazov?” Trifon Borissovitch shuffled

in vain…. He was obliged, after the peasants had been examined, to

admit the finding of the hundred roubles, only adding that he had

religiously returned it all to Dmitri Fyodorovitch “in perfect

honesty, and it’s only because his honour was in liquor at the time,

he wouldn’t remember it.” But, as he had denied the incident of the

hundred roubles till the peasants had been called to prove it, his

evidence as to returning the money to Mitya was naturally regarded

with great suspicion. So one of the most dangerous witnesses brought

forward by the prosecution was again discredited.

 

The same thing happened with the Poles. They took up an attitude

of pride and independence; they vociferated loudly that they had

both been in the service of the Crown, and that “Pan Mitya” had

offered them three thousand “to buy their honour,” and that they had

seen a large sum of money in his hands. Pan Mussyalovitch introduced a

terrible number of Polish words into his sentences, and seeing that

this only increased his consequence in the eyes of the President and

the prosecutor, grew more and more pompous, and ended by talking in

Polish altogether. But Fetyukovitch caught them, too, in his snares.

Trifon Borissovitch, recalled, was forced, in spite of his evasions,

to admit that Pan Vrublevsky had substituted another pack of cards for

the one he had provided, and that Pan Mussyalovitch had cheated during

the game. Kalgonov confirmed this, and both the Poles left the

witness-box with damaged reputations, amidst laughter from the public.

 

Then exactly the same thing happened with almost all the most

dangerous witnesses. Fetyukovitch succeeded in casting a slur on all

of them, and dismissing them with a certain derision. The lawyers

and experts were lost in admiration, and were only at a loss to

understand what good purpose could be served by it, for all, I repeat,

felt that the case for the prosecution could not be refuted, but was

growing more and more tragically overwhelming. But from the confidence

of the “great magician” they saw that he was serene, and they

waited, feeling that “such a man” had not come from Petersburg for

nothing, and that he was not a man to return unsuccessful.