Resurrection
say he was six foot five high; I should think he must have weighed about
20 stones.”
“That’s not the point,” said Peter Gerasimovitch. “The question is,
whether she was the instigator and inciter in this affair, or the
servants?”
“It was not possible for the servants to do it alone; she had the key.”
This kind of random talk went on for a considerable time. At last the
foreman said: “I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but had we not better take
our places at the table and discuss the matter? Come, please.” And he
took the chair.
The questions were expressed in the following manner.
1. Is the peasant of the village Borki, Krapivinskia district, Simeon
Petrov Kartinkin, 33 years of age, guilty of having, in agreement with
other persons, given the merchant Smelkoff, on the 17th January, 188-,
in the town of N-----, with intent to deprive him of life, for the
purpose of robbing him, poisoned brandy, which caused Smelkoff’s death,
and of having stolen from him about 2,500 roubles in money and a diamond
ring?
2. Is the meschanka Euphemia Ivanovna Botchkova, 43 years of age, guilty
of the crimes described above?
3. Is the meschanka Katerina Michaelovna Maslova, 27 years of age,
guilty of the crimes described in the first question?
4. If the prisoner Euphemia Botchkova is not guilty according to the
first question, is she not guilty of having, on the 17th January, in the
town of N----, while in service at the hotel Mauritania, stolen from a
locked portmanteau, belonging to the merchant Smelkoff, a lodger in that
hotel, and which was in the room occupied by him, 2,500 roubles, for
which object she unlocked the portmanteau with a key she brought and
fitted to the lock?
The foreman read the first question.
“Well, gentlemen, what do you think?” This question was quickly
answered. All agreed to say “Guilty,” as if convinced that Kartinkin
had taken part both in the poisoning and the robbery. An old artelshik,
[member of an artel, an association of workmen, in which the members
share profits and liabilities] whose answers were all in favour of
acquittal, was the only exception.
The foreman thought he did not understand, and began to point out to him
that everything tended to prove Kartinkin’s guilt. The old man answered
that he did understand, but still thought it better to have pity on him.
“We are not saints ourselves,” and he kept to his opinion.
The answer to the second question concerning Botchkova was, after much
dispute and many exclamations, answered by the words, “Not guilty,”
there being no clear proofs of her having taken part in the poisoning--a
fact her advocate had strongly insisted on. The merchant, anxious to
acquit Maslova, insisted that Botchkova was the chief instigator of it
all. Many of the jury shared this view, but the foreman, wishing to be
in strict accord with the law, declared they had no grounds to consider
her as an accomplice in the poisoning. After much disputing the
foreman’s opinion triumphed.
To the fourth question concerning Botchkova the answer was “Guilty.” But
on the artelshik’s insistence she was recommended to mercy.
The third question, concerning Maslova, raised a fierce dispute. The
foreman maintained she was guilty both of the poisoning and the theft,
to which the merchant would not agree. The colonel, the clerk and the
old artelshik sided with the merchant, the rest seemed shaky, and the
opinion of the foreman began to gain ground, chiefly because all the
jurymen were getting tired, and preferred to take up the view that would
bring them sooner to a decision and thus liberate them.
From all that had passed, and from his former knowledge of Maslova,
Nekhludoff was certain that she was innocent of both the theft and the
poisoning. And he felt sure that all the others would come to the same
conclusion. When he saw that the merchant’s awkward defence (evidently
based on his physical admiration for her, which he did not even try
to hide) and the foreman’s insistence, and especially everybody’s
weariness, were all tending to her condemnation, he longed to state his
objections, yet dared not, lest his relations with Maslova should be
discovered. He felt he could not allow things to go on without stating
his objection; and, blushing and growing pale again, was about to speak
when Peter Gerasimovitch, irritated by the authoritative manner of
the foreman, began to raise his objections and said the very things
Nekhludoff was about to say.
“Allow me one moment,” he said. “You seem to think that her having the
key proves she is guilty of the theft; but what could be easier than
for the servants to open the portmanteau with a false key after she was
gone?”
“Of course, of course,” said the merchant.
“She could not have taken the money, because in her position she would
hardly know what to do with it.”
“That’s just what I say,” remarked the merchant.
“But it is very likely that her coming put the idea into the servants’
heads and that they grasped the opportunity and shoved all the blame
on her.” Peter Gerasimovitch spoke so irritably that the foreman became
irritated too, and went on obstinately defending the opposite views; but
Peter Gerasimovitch spoke so convincingly that the majority agreed with
him, and decided that Maslova was not guilty of stealing the money and
that the ring was given her.
But when the question of her having taken part in the poisoning was
raised, her zealous defender, the merchant, declared that she must
be acquitted, because she could have no reason for the poisoning. The
foreman, however, said that it was impossible to acquit her, because she
herself had pleaded guilty to having given the powder.
“Yes, but thinking it was opium,” said the merchant.
“Opium can also deprive one of life,” said the colonel, who was fond
of wandering from the subject, and he began telling how his
brother-in-law’s wife would have died of an overdose of opium if there
had not been a doctor near at hand to take the necessary measures. The
colonel told his story so impressively, with such self-possession and
dignity, that no one had the courage to interrupt him. Only the clerk,
infected by his example, decided to break in with a story of his own:
“There are some who get so used to it that they can take 40 drops. I
have a relative--,” but the colonel would not stand the interruption,
and went on to relate what effects the opium had on his brother-in-law’s
wife.
“But, gentlemen, do you know it is getting on towards five o’clock?”
said one of the jury.
“Well, gentlemen, what are we to say, then?” inquired the foreman.
“Shall we say she is guilty, but without intent to rob? And without
stealing any property? Will that do?” Peter Gerasimovitch, pleased with
his victory, agreed.
“But she must be recommended to mercy,” said the merchant.
All agreed; only the old artelshik insisted that they should say “Not
guilty.”
“It comes to the same thing,” explained the foreman; “without intent to
rob, and without stealing any property. Therefore, ‘Not guilty,’ that’s
evident.”
“All right; that’ll do. And we recommend her to mercy,” said the
merchant, gaily.
They were all so tired, so confused by the discussions, that nobody
thought of saying that she was guilty of giving the powder but without
the intent of taking life. Nekhludoff was so excited that he did not
notice this omission, and so the answers were written down in the form
agreed upon and taken to the court.
Rabelais says that a lawyer who was trying a case quoted all sorts of
laws, read 20 pages of judicial senseless Latin, and then proposed to
the judges to throw dice, and if the numbers proved odd the defendant
would be right, if not, the plaintiff.
It was much the same in this case. The resolution was taken, not because
everybody agreed upon it, but because the president, who had been
summing up at such length, omitted to say what he always said on such
occasions, that the answer might be, “Yes, guilty, but without the
intent of taking life;” because the colonel had related the story of his
brother-in-law’s wife at such great length; because Nekhludoff was too
excited to notice that the proviso “without intent to take life” had
been omitted, and thought that the words “without intent” nullified the
conviction; because Peter Gerasimovitch had retired from the room while
the questions and answers were being read, and chiefly because, being
tired, and wishing to get away as soon as possible, all were ready to
agree with the decision which would bring matters to an end soonest.
The jurymen rang the bell. The gendarme who had stood outside the door
with his sword drawn put the sword back into the scabbard and stepped
aside. The judges took their seats and the jury came out one by one.
The foreman brought in the paper with an air of solemnity and handed
it to the president, who looked at it, and, spreading out his hands
in astonishment, turned to consult his companions. The president was
surprised that the jury, having put in a proviso--without intent to
rob--did not put in a second proviso--without intent to take life. From
the decision of the jury it followed that Maslova had not stolen, nor
robbed, and yet poisoned a man without any apparent reason.
“Just see what an absurd decision they have come to,” he whispered to
the member on his left. “This means penal servitude in Siberia, and she
is innocent.”
“Surely you do not mean to say she is innocent?” answered the serious
member.
“Yes, she is positively innocent. I think this is a case for putting
Article 817 into practice (Article 817 states that if the Court
considers the decision of the jury unjust it may set it aside).”
“What do you think?” said the president, turning to the other member.
The kindly member did not answer at once. He looked at the number on a
paper before him and added up the figures; the sum would not divide
by three. He had settled in his mind that if it did divide by three he
would agree to the president’s proposal, but though the sum would not so
divide his kindness made him agree all the same.
“I, too, think it should be done,” he said.
“And you?” asked the president, turning to the serious member.
“On no account,” he answered, firmly. “As it is, the papers accuse the
jury of acquitting prisoners. What will they say if the Court does it?
I, shall not agree to that on any account.”
The president looked at his watch. “It is a pity, but what’s to be
done?” and handed the questions to the foreman to read out. All got
up, and the foreman, stepping from foot to foot, coughed, and read the
questions and the answers. All the Court, secretary, advocates, and even
the public prosecutor, expressed surprise. The prisoners sat impassive,
evidently not understanding the meaning of the answers. Everybody sat
down again, and the president asked the prosecutor what punishments the
prisoners were to be subjected to.
The prosecutor, glad of his unexpected success in getting Maslova
convicted, and attributing the success entirely to his own eloquence,
looked up the necessary information, rose and said: “With Simeon
Kartinkin I should deal according to Statute 1,452 paragraph 93.
Euphemia Botchkova according to Statute . . ., etc. Katerina Maslova
according to Statute . . ., etc.”
All three punishments were the heaviest that could be inflicted.
“The Court will adjourn to consider the sentence,” said the president,
rising. Everybody rose after him, and with the pleasant feeling of a
task well done began to leave the room or move about in it.
“D’you know, sirs, we have made a shameful hash of it?” said Peter
Gerasimovitch, approaching Nekhludoff, to whom the foreman was relating
something. “Why, we’ve got her to Siberia.”