The Brothers Karamazov
the other, with their crazy Karamazov way of muddling things so that no
one could make head 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,
Rakitin’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 ardor, made a slight blunder, of which the
counsel for the defense 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 defense, 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 every one 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 _élite_ of the youth of
the neighborhood, 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 any one 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 honor 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 honor,” 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.
Kalganov 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.
Chapter III.
The Medical Experts And A Pound Of Nuts
The evidence of the medical experts, too, was of little use to the
prisoner. And it appeared later that Fetyukovitch had not reckoned much
upon it. The medical line of defense had only been taken up through the
insistence of Katerina Ivanovna, who had sent for a celebrated doctor
from Moscow on purpose. The case for the defense could, of course, lose
nothing by it and might, with luck, gain something from it. There was,
however, an element of comedy about it, through the difference of
opinion of the doctors. The medical experts were the famous doctor from
Moscow, our doctor, Herzenstube, and the young doctor, Varvinsky. The
two latter appeared also as witnesses for the prosecution.
The first to be called in the capacity of expert was Doctor
Herzenstube. He was a gray and bald old man of seventy, of middle
height and sturdy build. He was much esteemed and respected by every
one in the town. He was a conscientious doctor and an excellent and
pious man, a Hernguter or Moravian brother, I am not quite sure which.
He had been living amongst us for many years and behaved with wonderful
dignity. He was a kind-hearted and humane man. He treated the sick poor
and peasants for nothing, visited them in their slums and huts, and
left money for medicine, but he was as obstinate as a mule. If once he
had taken an idea into his head, there was no shaking it. Almost every
one in the town was aware, by the way, that the famous doctor had,
within the first two or three days of his presence among us, uttered
some extremely offensive allusions to Doctor Herzenstube’s
qualifications. Though the Moscow doctor asked twenty-five roubles for
a visit, several people in the town were glad to take advantage of his