finished_summaries/shmoop/The Brothers Karamazov/section_80_part_0.txt
The Brothers Karamazov.book 12.chapter 2
book 12, chapter 2
{"name": "Book 12, Chapter 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201023112808/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/brothers-karamazov/summary/book-12-chapter-2", "summary": "At this point the witnesses for the prosecution give testimony. The prosecutor seems particularly interested in Dmitri's dispute with his father over his inheritance, while the defense lawyer seems particularly focused on whether anyone has ever actually seen the envelope or not. First to give witness is Grigory, who describes his version of the events of that night. Grigory claims to have forgiven Dmitri for attacking him and even calls his father's treatment of him unfair. When the defense lawyer asks Grigory if he's ever seen the envelope, Grigory admits he's never seen it. The defense lawyer then asks Grigory about the ingredients in the medicinal balm he had used the night of Fyodor's murder, and Grigory reveals that the main ingredient is - vodka. After establishing that Grigory must have been quite drunk and not quite a credible witness on the night of the murder, the defense lawyer rests. Dmitri loudly thanks Grigory for being such a great servant, and the judge reprimands him again for his outburst. Next is Rakitin, who is allowed to digress from his testimony into eloquent monologues on the evils of serfdom and a Russia in disorder. He even gets applause for his impressive speeches. But the defense lawyer brings up the fact of Rakitin's intimacy with Grushenka, and their bet over Alyosha . Rakitin cannot deny that he never returned the betting money to Grushenka, so he too is discredited. The next witness is Captain Snegiryov, who is an utter drunken mess bewailing the imminent death of his young son. He is quickly dismissed. After Snegiryov, the innkeeper Trifon Borisovich is called up. Trifon is quite smug on the stand, but the defense lawyer undercuts Trifon by getting him to confess that he stole money from Dmitri on his drunken spree. The Poles are next on the list, and they too act noble and superior under the prosecutor's questioning. But Fetyukovich challenges them on cheating at cards, and Kalganov is called up to confirm this. The Poles leave the stand amid general laughter.", "analysis": ""}
Chapter II. Dangerous Witnesses


I do not know whether the witnesses for the defense and for the
prosecution were separated into groups by the President, and whether it
was arranged to call them in a certain order. But no doubt it was so. I
only know that the witnesses for the prosecution were called first. I
repeat I don't intend to describe all the questions step by step. Besides,
my account would be to some extent superfluous, because in the speeches
for the prosecution and for the defense the whole course of the evidence
was brought together and set in a strong and significant light, and I took
down parts of those two remarkable speeches in full, and will quote them
in due course, together with one extraordinary and quite unexpected
episode, which occurred before the final speeches, and undoubtedly
influenced the sinister and fatal outcome of the trial.

I will only observe that from the first moments of the trial one peculiar
characteristic of the case was conspicuous and observed by all, that is,
the overwhelming strength of the prosecution as compared with the
arguments the defense had to rely upon. Every one realized it from the
first moment that the facts began to group themselves round a single
point, and the whole horrible and bloody crime was gradually revealed.
Every one, perhaps, felt from the first that the case was beyond dispute,
that there was no doubt about it, that there could be really no
discussion, and that the defense was only a matter of form, and that the
prisoner was guilty, obviously and conclusively guilty. I imagine that
even the ladies, who were so impatiently longing for the acquittal of the
interesting prisoner, were at the same time, without exception, convinced
of his guilt. What's more, I believe they would have been mortified if his
guilt had not been so firmly established, as that would have lessened the
effect of the closing scene of the criminal's acquittal. That he would be
acquitted, all the ladies, strange to say, were firmly persuaded up to the
very last moment. "He is guilty, but he will be acquitted, from motives of
humanity, in accordance with the new ideas, the new sentiments that had
come into fashion," and so on, and so on. And that was why they had
crowded into the court so impatiently. The men were more interested in the
contest between the prosecutor and the famous Fetyukovitch. All were
wondering and asking themselves what could even a talent like
Fetyukovitch's make of such a desperate case; and so they followed his
achievements, step by step, with concentrated attention.

But Fetyukovitch remained an enigma to all up to the very end, up to his
speech. Persons of experience suspected that he had some design, that he
was working towards some object, but it was almost impossible to guess
what it was. His confidence and self-reliance were unmistakable, however.
Every one noticed with pleasure, moreover, that he, after so short a stay,
not more than three days, perhaps, among us, had so wonderfully succeeded
in mastering the case and "had studied it to a nicety." People described
with relish, afterwards, how cleverly he had "taken down" all the
witnesses for the prosecution, and as far as possible perplexed them and,
what's more, had aspersed their reputation and so depreciated the value of
their evidence. But it was supposed that he did this rather by way of
sport, so to speak, for professional glory, to show nothing had been
omitted of the accepted methods, for all were convinced that he could do
no real good by such disparagement of the witnesses, and probably was more
aware of this than any one, having some idea of his own in the background,
some concealed weapon of defense, which he would suddenly reveal when the
time came. But meanwhile, conscious of his strength, he seemed to be
diverting himself.

So, for instance, when Grigory, Fyodor Pavlovitch's old servant, who had
given the most damning piece of evidence about the open door, was
examined, the counsel for the defense positively fastened upon him when
his turn came to question him. It must be noted that Grigory entered the
hall with a composed and almost stately air, not the least disconcerted by
the majesty of the court or the vast audience listening to him. He gave
evidence with as much confidence as though he had been talking with his
Marfa, only perhaps more respectfully. It was impossible to make him
contradict himself. The prosecutor questioned him first in detail about
the family life of the Karamazovs. The family picture stood out in lurid
colors. It was plain to ear and eye that the witness was guileless and
impartial. In spite of his profound reverence for the memory of his
deceased master, he yet bore witness that he had been unjust to Mitya and
"hadn't brought up his children as he should. He'd have been devoured by
lice when he was little, if it hadn't been for me," he added, describing
Mitya's early childhood. "It wasn't fair either of the father to wrong his
son over his mother's property, which was by right his."

In reply to the prosecutor's question what grounds he had for asserting
that Fyodor Pavlovitch had wronged his son in their money relations,
Grigory, to the surprise of every one, had no proof at all to bring
forward, but he still persisted that the arrangement with the son was
"unfair," and that he ought "to have paid him several thousand roubles
more." I must note, by the way, that the prosecutor asked this question
whether Fyodor Pavlovitch had really kept back part of Mitya's inheritance
with marked persistence of all the witnesses who could be asked it, not
excepting Alyosha and Ivan, but he obtained no exact information from any
one; all alleged that it was so, but were unable to bring forward any
distinct proof. Grigory's description of the scene at the dinner-table,
when Dmitri had burst in and beaten his father, threatening to come back
to kill him, made a sinister impression on the court, especially as the
old servant's composure in telling it, his parsimony of words and peculiar
phraseology, were as effective as eloquence. He observed that he was not
angry with Mitya for having knocked him down and struck him on the face;
he had forgiven him long ago, he said. Of the deceased Smerdyakov he
observed, crossing himself, that he was a lad of ability, but stupid and
afflicted, and, worse still, an infidel, and that it was Fyodor Pavlovitch
and his elder son who had taught him to be so. But he defended
Smerdyakov's honesty almost with warmth, and related how Smerdyakov had
once found the master's money in the yard, and, instead of concealing it,
had taken it to his master, who had rewarded him with a "gold piece" for
it, and trusted him implicitly from that time forward. He maintained
obstinately that the door into the garden had been open. But he was asked
so many questions that I can't recall them all.

At last the counsel for the defense began to cross-examine him, and the
first question he asked was about the envelope in which Fyodor Pavlovitch
was supposed to have put three thousand roubles for "a certain person."
"Have you ever seen it, you, who were for so many years in close
attendance on your master?" Grigory answered that he had not seen it and
had never heard of the money from any one "till everybody was talking
about it." This question about the envelope Fetyukovitch put to every one
who could conceivably have known of it, as persistently as the prosecutor
asked his question about Dmitri's inheritance, and got the same answer
from all, that no one had seen the envelope, though many had heard of it.
From the beginning every one noticed Fetyukovitch's persistence on this
subject.

"Now, with your permission I'll ask you a question," Fetyukovitch said,
suddenly and unexpectedly. "Of what was that balsam, or, rather,
decoction, made, which, as we learn from the preliminary inquiry, you used
on that evening to rub your lumbago, in the hope of curing it?"

Grigory looked blankly at the questioner, and after a brief silence
muttered, "There was saffron in it."

"Nothing but saffron? Don't you remember any other ingredient?"

"There was milfoil in it, too."

"And pepper perhaps?" Fetyukovitch queried.

"Yes, there was pepper, too."

"Etcetera. And all dissolved in vodka?"

"In spirit."

There was a faint sound of laughter in the court.

"You see, in spirit. After rubbing your back, I believe, you drank what
was left in the bottle with a certain pious prayer, only known to your
wife?"

"I did."

"Did you drink much? Roughly speaking, a wine-glass or two?"

"It might have been a tumbler-full."

"A tumbler-full, even. Perhaps a tumbler and a half?"

Grigory did not answer. He seemed to see what was meant.

"A glass and a half of neat spirit--is not at all bad, don't you think? You
might see the gates of heaven open, not only the door into the garden?"

Grigory remained silent. There was another laugh in the court. The
President made a movement.

"Do you know for a fact," Fetyukovitch persisted, "whether you were awake
or not when you saw the open door?"

"I was on my legs."

"That's not a proof that you were awake." (There was again laughter in the
court.) "Could you have answered at that moment, if any one had asked you
a question--for instance, what year it is?"

"I don't know."

"And what year is it, Anno Domini, do you know?"

Grigory stood with a perplexed face, looking straight at his tormentor.
Strange to say, it appeared he really did not know what year it was.

"But perhaps you can tell me how many fingers you have on your hands?"

"I am a servant," Grigory said suddenly, in a loud and distinct voice. "If
my betters think fit to make game of me, it is my duty to suffer it."

Fetyukovitch was a little taken aback, and the President intervened,
reminding him that he must ask more relevant questions. Fetyukovitch bowed
with dignity and said that he had no more questions to ask of the witness.
The public and the jury, of course, were left with a grain of doubt in
their minds as to the evidence of a man who might, while undergoing a
certain cure, have seen "the gates of heaven," and who did not even know
what year he was living in. But before Grigory left the box another
episode occurred. The President, turning to the prisoner, asked him
whether he had any comment to make on the evidence of the last witness.

"Except about the door, all he has said is true," cried Mitya, in a loud
voice. "For combing the lice off me, I thank him; for forgiving my blows,
I thank him. The old man has been honest all his life and as faithful to
my father as seven hundred poodles."

"Prisoner, be careful in your language," the President admonished him.

"I am not a poodle," Grigory muttered.

"All right, it's I am a poodle myself," cried Mitya. "If it's an insult, I
take it to myself and I beg his pardon. I was a beast and cruel to him. I
was cruel to AEsop too."

"What AEsop?" the President asked sternly again.

"Oh, Pierrot ... my father, Fyodor Pavlovitch."

The President again and again warned Mitya impressively and very sternly
to be more careful in his language.

"You are injuring yourself in the opinion of your judges."

The counsel for the defense was equally clever in dealing with the
evidence of Rakitin. I may remark that Rakitin was one of the leading
witnesses and one to whom the prosecutor attached great significance. It
appeared that he knew everything; his knowledge was amazing, he had been
everywhere, seen everything, talked to everybody, knew every detail of the
biography of Fyodor Pavlovitch and all the Karamazovs. Of the envelope, it
is true, he had only heard from Mitya himself. But he described minutely
Mitya's exploits in the "Metropolis," all his compromising doings and
sayings, and told the story of Captain Snegiryov's "wisp of tow." But even
Rakitin could say nothing positive about Mitya's inheritance, and confined
himself to contemptuous generalities.

"Who could tell which of them was to blame, and which was in debt to 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 _elite_ 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.





Book 12, Chapter 2
At this point the witnesses for the prosecution give testimony. The prosecutor seems particularly interested in Dmitri's dispute with his father over his inheritance, while the defense lawyer seems particularly focused on whether anyone has ever actually seen the envelope or not. First to give witness is Grigory, who describes his version of the events of that night. Grigory claims to have forgiven Dmitri for attacking him and even calls his father's treatment of him unfair. When the defense lawyer asks Grigory if he's ever seen the envelope, Grigory admits he's never seen it. The defense lawyer then asks Grigory about the ingredients in the medicinal balm he had used the night of Fyodor's murder, and Grigory reveals that the main ingredient is - vodka. After establishing that Grigory must have been quite drunk and not quite a credible witness on the night of the murder, the defense lawyer rests. Dmitri loudly thanks Grigory for being such a great servant, and the judge reprimands him again for his outburst. Next is Rakitin, who is allowed to digress from his testimony into eloquent monologues on the evils of serfdom and a Russia in disorder. He even gets applause for his impressive speeches. But the defense lawyer brings up the fact of Rakitin's intimacy with Grushenka, and their bet over Alyosha . Rakitin cannot deny that he never returned the betting money to Grushenka, so he too is discredited. The next witness is Captain Snegiryov, who is an utter drunken mess bewailing the imminent death of his young son. He is quickly dismissed. After Snegiryov, the innkeeper Trifon Borisovich is called up. Trifon is quite smug on the stand, but the defense lawyer undercuts Trifon by getting him to confess that he stole money from Dmitri on his drunken spree. The Poles are next on the list, and they too act noble and superior under the prosecutor's questioning. But Fetyukovich challenges them on cheating at cards, and Kalganov is called up to confirm this. The Poles leave the stand amid general laughter.