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repudiate

our charge, we shall hasten to repudiate it. But now justice cries out

and we persist, we cannot repudiate anything.”

 

Ippolit Kirillovitch passed to his final peroration. He looked

as though he was in a fever, he spoke of the blood that cried for

vengeance, the blood of the father murdered by his son, with the

base motive of robbery! He pointed to the tragic and glaring

consistency of the facts.

 

“And whatever you may hear from the talented and celebrated

counsel for the defence,” Ippolit Kirillovitch could not resist

adding, “whatever eloquent and touching appeals may be made to your

sensibilities, remember that at this moment you are in a temple of

justice. Remember that you are the champions of our justice, the

champions of our holy Russia, of her principles, her family,

everything that she holds sacred! Yes, you represent Russia here at

this moment, and your verdict will be heard not in this hall only

but will re-echo throughout the whole of Russia, and all Russia will

hear you, as her champions and her judges, and she will be

encouraged or disheartened by your verdict. Do not disappoint Russia

and her expectations. Our fatal troika dashes on in her headlong

flight perhaps to destruction and in all Russia for long past men have

stretched out imploring hands and called a halt to its furious

reckless course. And if other nations stand aside from that troika

that may be, not from respect, as the poet would fain believe, but

simply from horror. From horror, perhaps from disgust. And well it

is that they stand aside, but maybe they will cease one day to do so

and will form a firm wall confronting the hurrying apparition and will

check the frenzied rush of our lawlessness, for the sake of their

own safety, enlightenment and civilisation. Already we have heard

voices of alarm from Europe, they already begin to sound. Do not tempt

them! Do not heap up their growing hatred by a sentence justifying the

murder of a father by his son I

 

Though Ippolit Kirillovitch was genuinely moved, he wound up his

speech with this rhetorical appeal-and the effect produced by him was

extraordinary. When he had finished his speech, he went out

hurriedly and, as I have mentioned before, almost fainted in the

adjoining room. There was no applause in the court, but serious

persons were pleased. The ladies were not so well satisfied, though

even they were pleased with his eloquence, especially as they had no

apprehensions as to the upshot of the trial and had full trust in

Fetyukovitch. “He will speak at last and of course carry all before

him.”

 

Everyone looked at Mitya; he sat silent through the whole of the

prosecutor’s speech, clenching his teeth, with his hands clasped,

and his head bowed. Only from time to time he raised his head and

listened, especially when Grushenka was spoken of. When the prosecutor

mentioned Rakitin’s opinion of her, a smile of contempt and anger

passed over his face and he murmured rather audibly, “The Bernards!”

When Ippolit Kirillovitch described how he had questioned and tortured

him at Mokroe, Mitya raised his head and listened with intense

curiosity. At one point he seemed about to jump up and cry out, but

controlled himself and only shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.

People talked afterwards of the end of the speech, of the prosecutor’s

feat in examining the prisoner at Mokroe, and jeered at Ippolit

Kirillovitch. “The man could not resist boasting of his cleverness,”

they said.

 

The court was adjourned, but only for a short interval, a

quarter of an hour or twenty minutes at most. There was a hum of

conversation and exclamations in the audience. I remember some of

them.

 

“A weighty speech,” a gentleman in one group observed gravely.

 

“He brought in too much psychology,” said another voice.

 

“But it was all true, the absolute truth!”

 

“Yes, he is first rate at it.”

 

“He summed it all up.”

 

“Yes, he summed us up, too,” chimed in another voice, “Do you

remember, at the beginning of his speech, making out we were all

like Fyodor Pavlovitch?”

 

“And at the end, too. But that was all rot.”

 

“And obscure too.”

 

“He was a little too much carried away.”

 

“It’s unjust, it’s unjust.”

 

“No, it was smartly done, anyway. He’s had long to wait, but

he’s had his say, ha ha!”

 

“What will the counsel for the defence say?”

 

In another group I heard:

 

“He had no business to make a thrust at the Petersburg man like

that; ‘appealing to your sensibilities’- do you remember?”

 

“Yes, that was awkward of him.”

 

“He was in too great a hurry.”

 

“He is a nervous man.”

 

“We laugh, but what must the prisoner be feeling?”

 

“Yes, what must it be for Mitya?”

 

In a third group:

 

“What lady is that, the fat one, with the lorgnette, sitting at

the end?”

 

“She is a general’s wife, divorced, I know her.”

 

“That’s why she has the lorgnette.”

 

“She is not good for much.”

 

“Oh no, she is a piquante little woman.”

 

“Two places beyond her there is a little fair woman, she is

prettier.”

 

“They caught him smartly at Mokroe, didn’t they, eh?”

 

“Oh, it was smart enough. We’ve heard it before, how often he

has told the story at people’s houses!

 

“And he couldn’t resist doing it now. That’s vanity.”

 

“He is a man with a grievance, he he!”

 

“Yes, and quick to take offence. And there was too much

rhetoric, such long sentences.”

 

“Yes, he tries to alarm us, he kept trying to alarm us. Do you

remember about the troika? Something about ‘They have Hamlets, but

we have, so far, only Karamazovs!’ That was cleverly said!”

 

“That was to propitiate the liberals. He is afraid of them.”

 

“Yes, and he is afraid of the lawyer, too.”

 

“Yes, what will Fetyukovitch say?”

 

“Whatever he says, he won’t get round our peasants.”

 

“Don’t you think so?”

 

A fourth group:

 

“What he said about the troika was good, that piece about the

other nations.”

 

“And that was true what he said about other nations not standing

it.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Why, in the English Parliment a Member got up last week and

speaking about the Nihilists asked the Ministry whether it was not

high time to intervene, to educate this barbarous people. Ippolit

was thinking of him, I know he was. He was talking about that last

week.”

 

“Not an easy job.”

 

“Not an easy job? Why not?”

 

“Why, we’d shut up Kronstadt and not let them have any corn. Where

would they get it?”

 

“In America. They get it from America now.”

 

“Nonsense!”

 

But the bell rang, all rushed to their places. Fetyukovitch

mounted the tribune.

Chapter 10

The Speech for the Defence. An Argument that Cuts Both Ways

 

ALL was hushed as the first words of the famous orator rang out.

The eyes of the audience were fastened upon him. He began very

simply and directly, with an air of conviction, but not the

slightest trace of conceit. He made no attempt at eloquence, at

pathos, or emotional phrases. He was like a man speaking in a circle

of intimate and sympathetic friends. His voice was a fine one,

sonorous and sympathetic, and there was something genuine and simple

in the very sound of it. But everyone realised at once that the

speaker might suddenly rise to genuine pathos and “pierce the heart

with untold power.” His language was perhaps more irregular than

Ippolit Kirillovitch’s, but he spoke without long phrases, and indeed,

with more precision. One thing did not please the ladies: he kept

bending forward, especially at the beginning of his speech, not

exactly bowing, but as though he were about to dart at his

listeners, bending his long spine in half, as though there were a

spring in the middle that enabled him to bend almost at right angles.

 

At the beginning of his speech he spoke rather disconnectedly,

without system, one may say, dealing with facts separately, though, at

the end, these facts formed a whole. His speech might be divided

into two parts, the first consisting of criticism in refutation of the

charge, sometimes malicious and sarcastic. But in the second half he

suddenly changed his tone, and even his manner, and at once rose to

pathos. The audience seemed on the lookout for it, and quivered with

enthusiasm.

 

He went straight to the point, and began by saying that although

he practised in Petersburg, he had more than once visited provincial

towns to defend prisoners, of whose innocence he had a conviction or

at least a preconceived idea. “That is what has happened to me in

the present case,” he explained. “From the very first accounts in

the newspapers I was struck by something which strongly prepossessed

me in the prisoner’s favour. What interested me most was a fact

which often occurs in legal practice, but rarely, I think, in such

an extreme and peculiar form as in the present case. I ought to

formulate that peculiarity only at the end of my speech, but I will do

so at the very beginning, for it is my weakness to go to work

directly, not keeping my effects in reserve and economising my

material. That may be imprudent on my part, but at least it’s sincere.

What I have in my mind is this: there is an overwhelming chain of

evidence against the prisoner, and at the same time not one fact

that will stand criticism, if it is examined separately. As I followed

the case more closely in the papers my idea was more and more

confirmed, and I suddenly received from the prisoner’s relatives a

request to undertake his defence. I at once hurried here, and here I

became completely convinced. It was to break down this terrible

chain of facts, and to show that each piece of evidence taken

separately was unproved and fantastic, that I undertook the case.”

 

So Fetyukovitch began.

 

“Gentlemen of the jury,” he suddenly protested, “I am new to

this district. I have no preconceived ideas. The prisoner, a man of

turbulent and unbridled temper, has not insulted me. But he has

insulted perhaps hundreds of persons in this town, and so prejudiced

many people against him beforehand. Of course I recognise that the

moral sentiment of local society is justly excited against him. The

prisoner is of turbulent and violent temper. Yet he was received in

society here; he was even welcome in the family of my talented friend,

the prosecutor.”

 

(N.B. At these words there were two or three laughs in the

audience, quickly suppressed, but noticed by all. All of us knew

that the prosecutor received Mitya against his will, solely because he

had somehow interested his wife-a lady of the highest virtue and

moral worth, but fanciful, capricious, and fond of opposing her

husband, especially in trifles. Mitya’s visits, however, had not

been frequent.)

 

“Nevertheless I venture to suggest,” Fetyukovitch continued, “that

in spite of his independent mind and just character, my opponent may

have formed a mistaken prejudice against my unfortunate client. Oh,

that is so natural; the unfortunate man has only too well deserved

such prejudice. Outraged morality, and still more outraged taste, is

often relentless. We have, in the talented prosecutor’s speech,

heard a stern analysis of the prisoner’s character and conduct, and

his severe critical attitude to the case was evident. And, what’s

more, he went into psychological subtleties into which he could not

have entered, if he had the least conscious and

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