finished_summaries/shmoop/The Brothers Karamazov/section_88_part_0.txt
The Brothers Karamazov.book 12.chapter 10
book 12, chapter 10
{"name": "Book 12, Chapter 10", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201023112808/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/brothers-karamazov/summary/book-12-chapter-10", "summary": "Like Chapters 6-9, Chapters 10-13 consist entirely in the defense attorney's speech, with little action, if any. We give you the basic rundown of the speech over the next four chapters. In contrast to the prosecutor, Fetyukovich is quite calm, and everyone in the courtroom is impressed with his eloquence. Fetyukovich puts forward his argument that while all of the details the prosecutor presented seem convincing when taken as a whole, not one of the details can be held up as a concrete, indisputable fact. Every detail can be questioned or challenged in some way. Fetyukovich describes the prosecutor's use of psychology as a \"stick with two ends\": psychology can justify two contradictory explanations of the same thing. So on one hand the prosecutor says Dmitri recklessly left an envelope on his father's bedroom floor in his mad rush. On the other hand, he says Dmitri was methodical in making sure that Grigory was dead. Psychology paints Dmitri as both reckless and methodical at the same time. How can that be, Fetyukovich asks? Fetyukovich gets a few chuckles from the courtroom here, then he moves on.", "analysis": ""}
Chapter X. The Speech For The Defense. 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 every one realized 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 look-out for it, and quivered with enthusiasm.

He went straight to the point, and began by saying that although he
practiced 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 favor. 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 economizing 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 defense.
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 recognize 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
malicious prejudice against the prisoner. But there are things which are
even worse, even more fatal in such cases, than the most malicious and
consciously unfair attitude. It is worse if we are carried away by the
artistic instinct, by the desire to create, so to speak, a romance,
especially if God has endowed us with psychological insight. Before I
started on my way here, I was warned in Petersburg, and was myself aware,
that I should find here a talented opponent whose psychological insight
and subtlety had gained him peculiar renown in legal circles of recent
years. But profound as psychology is, it's a knife that cuts both ways."
(Laughter among the public.) "You will, of course, forgive me my
comparison; I can't boast of eloquence. But I will take as an example any
point in the prosecutor's speech.

"The prisoner, running away in the garden in the dark, climbed over the
fence, was seized by the servant, and knocked him down with a brass
pestle. Then he jumped back into the garden and spent five minutes over
the man, trying to discover whether he had killed him or not. And the
prosecutor refuses to believe the prisoner's statement that he ran to old
Grigory out of pity. 'No,' he says, 'such sensibility is impossible at
such a moment, that's unnatural; he ran to find out whether the only
witness of his crime was dead or alive, and so showed that he had
committed the murder, since he would not have run back for any other
reason.'

"Here you have psychology; but let us take the same method and apply it to
the case the other way round, and our result will be no less probable. The
murderer, we are told, leapt down to find out, as a precaution, whether
the witness was alive or not, yet he had left in his murdered father's
study, as the prosecutor himself argues, an amazing piece of evidence in
the shape of a torn envelope, with an inscription that there had been
three thousand roubles in it. 'If he had carried that envelope away with
him, no one in the world would have known of that envelope and of the
notes in it, and that the money had been stolen by the prisoner.' Those
are the prosecutor's own words. So on one side you see a complete absence
of precaution, a man who has lost his head and run away in a fright,
leaving that clew on the floor, and two minutes later, when he has killed
another man, we are entitled to assume the most heartless and calculating
foresight in him. But even admitting this was so, it is psychological
subtlety, I suppose, that discerns that under certain circumstances I
become as bloodthirsty and keen-sighted as a Caucasian eagle, while at the
next I am as timid and blind as a mole. But if I am so bloodthirsty and
cruelly calculating that when I kill a man I only run back to find out
whether he is alive to witness against me, why should I spend five minutes
looking after my victim at the risk of encountering other witnesses? Why
soak my handkerchief, wiping the blood off his head so that it may be
evidence against me later? If he were so cold-hearted and calculating, why
not hit the servant on the head again and again with the same pestle so as
to kill him outright and relieve himself of all anxiety about the witness?

"Again, though he ran to see whether the witness was alive, he left
another witness on the path, that brass pestle which he had taken from the
two women, and which they could always recognize afterwards as theirs, and
prove that he had taken it from them. And it is not as though he had
forgotten it on the path, dropped it through carelessness or haste, no, he
had flung away his weapon, for it was found fifteen paces from where
Grigory lay. Why did he do so? Just because he was grieved at having
killed a man, an old servant; and he flung away the pestle with a curse,
as a murderous weapon. That's how it must have been, what other reason
could he have had for throwing it so far? And if he was capable of feeling
grief and pity at having killed a man, it shows that he was innocent of
his father's murder. Had he murdered him, he would never have run to
another victim out of pity; then he would have felt differently; his
thoughts would have been centered on self-preservation. He would have had
none to spare for pity, that is beyond doubt. On the contrary, he would
have broken his skull instead of spending five minutes looking after him.
There was room for pity and good-feeling just because his conscience had
been clear till then. Here we have a different psychology. I have
purposely resorted to this method, gentlemen of the jury, to show that you
can prove anything by it. It all depends on who makes use of it.
Psychology lures even most serious people into romancing, and quite
unconsciously. I am speaking of the abuse of psychology, gentlemen."

Sounds of approval and laughter, at the expense of the prosecutor, were
again audible in the court. I will not repeat the speech in detail; I will
only quote some passages from it, some leading points.





Book 12, Chapter 10
Like Chapters 6-9, Chapters 10-13 consist entirely in the defense attorney's speech, with little action, if any. We give you the basic rundown of the speech over the next four chapters. In contrast to the prosecutor, Fetyukovich is quite calm, and everyone in the courtroom is impressed with his eloquence. Fetyukovich puts forward his argument that while all of the details the prosecutor presented seem convincing when taken as a whole, not one of the details can be held up as a concrete, indisputable fact. Every detail can be questioned or challenged in some way. Fetyukovich describes the prosecutor's use of psychology as a "stick with two ends": psychology can justify two contradictory explanations of the same thing. So on one hand the prosecutor says Dmitri recklessly left an envelope on his father's bedroom floor in his mad rush. On the other hand, he says Dmitri was methodical in making sure that Grigory was dead. Psychology paints Dmitri as both reckless and methodical at the same time. How can that be, Fetyukovich asks? Fetyukovich gets a few chuckles from the courtroom here, then he moves on.