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to you again and again from the depths of my soul;

did this murder actually take place? Gentlemen of the jury, if we

convict and punish him, he will say to himself: ‘These 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.’ 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.

 

“But 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. ‘How can I endure this mercy? How can I endure so

much love? Am I worthy of it?’ That’s what he will exclaim.

 

“Oh, 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, ‘I am quits,’

but will say, ‘I am guilty in the sight of all men and am more

unworthy than all.’ With tears of penitence and poignant, tender

anguish, he will exclaim: ‘Others are better than I, they wanted to

save me, not to ruin me!’ 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: ‘Yes, he is guilty.’

 

“Better 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!”

Chapter 14

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. “What? What’s

the meaning of it? He positively dares to make objections,” 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.

 

“… 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-isn’t this a

romance in the Byronic style? And the son who breaks into his father’s

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 what’s the meaning of his

murdering him without having murdered him-who can make head or tail

of this?

 

“Then we are admonished that our tribune is a tribune of true

and sound ideas and from this tribune of ‘sound ideas’ is heard a

solemn declaration that to call the murder of a father ‘parricide’

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 merchants’ 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. ‘Oh, crush

him by mercy,’ cries the counsel for the defence; but that’s 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-that’s 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! ‘What measure ye

mete so it shall be meted unto you again,’ 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 ‘the

crucified lover of humanity,’ in opposition to all orthodox Russia,

which calls to Him, ‘For Thou art our God!’”

 

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 “romancing” and “psychology,” and in an

appropriate place quoted, “Jupiter, you are angry, therefore you are

wrong,” 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 prosecutor’s 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 “damaging to my reputation as a citizen and

a loyal subject.” 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, “crushed for good.”

 

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.

 

“What 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

father’s blood! For the last time I repeat, it wasn’t 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 it’s not true

that I killed my father, the prosecutor is mistaken. I thank my

counsel, too. I cried listening to him; but it’s not true that I

killed my father, and he needn’t have supposed it. And don’t 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, I’ll

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!”

 

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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