The Brothers Karamazov

“There are,” he said to one group, as was reported afterwards, “there are these invisible threads that bind the defense attorney and the jury together. They begin and can already be sensed during the speech. I felt them, they exist. Don’t worry, the case is ours.”

“I wonder what our peasants are going to say?” said one sullen, fat, pockmarked gentleman, a neighboring landowner, approaching a group of gentlemen conversing.

“But they’re not all peasants. There are four officials among them.”

“Yes, officials,” a member of the district council said, joining them.

“And do you know Nazaryev, Prokhor Ivanovich, the merchant with the medal, the one on the jury?”

“What about him?”

“Palatial mind.”

“But he never says a word.”

“Never says a word, but so much the better. Your man from Petersburg has nothing to teach him; he could teach the whole of Petersburg himself. Twelve children, just think of it!”

“Good God, how can they possibly not acquit him?” cried one of our young officials in another group.

“He’s sure to be acquitted,” a resolute voice was heard.

“It would be a shame and a disgrace not to acquit him!” the official went on exclaiming. “Suppose he did kill him, but there are fathers and fathers! And, finally, he was in such a frenzy ... Maybe he really did just swing the pestle and the old man fell down. Only it’s too bad they dragged the lackey into it. That’s just a ridiculous episode. If I were the defense attorney, I’d have said straight out: he killed him, but he’s not guilty, and devil take you!”

“But that’s just what he did, only he didn’t say ‘devil take you.’”

“No, Mikhail Semyonovich, but he nearly said it,” a third little voice chimed in.

“Good God, gentlemen, didn’t they acquit an actress, during Great Lent, who cut the throat of her lover’s lawful wife?”^[360]

“But she didn’t finish cutting it.”

“All the same, all the same, she started to!”

“And what he said about children! Splendid!”

“Splendid.”

“And about mysticism, about mysticism, eh?”

“Mysticism nothing,” someone else cried out, “think about Ippolit, think what his fate is going to be after this day! His wife is sure to scratch his eyes out tomorrow over Mitenka.”

“Is she here?”

“Here, hah! If she were here, she’d have scratched his eyes out right here. She’s at home with a toothache. Heh, heh, heh!”

“Heh,heh,heh!”

In a third group:

“It looks like Mitenka will be acquitted after all.”

“Tomorrow, for all I know, he’ll smash up the whole ‘Metropolis,’ he’ll go on a ten-day binge.”

“Ah, the devil you say!”

“The devil? Yes, the devil’s in it all right, where else would he be if not here?”

“Eloquence aside, gentlemen, people can’t be allowed to go breaking their fathers’ heads with steelyards. Otherwise where will we end up?”

“The chariot, the chariot, remember that?”

“Yes, he made a chariot out of a dung cart.”

“And tomorrow a dung cart out of a chariot, ‘in good measure, all in good measure.’”

“Folks are clever nowadays. Do we have any truth in Russia, gentlemen, or is there none at all?”

But the bell rang. The jury deliberated for exactly an hour, not more, not less. A deep silence reigned as soon as the public resumed their seats. I remember how the jury filed into the courtroom. At last! I omit giving the questions point by point, besides I’ve forgotten them. I remember only the answer to the first and chief question of the presiding judge—that is, “Did he commit murder for the purpose of robbery, and with premeditation?” (I do not remember the text.) Everything became still. The foreman of the jury— namely, one of the officials, the youngest of them all—pronounced loudly and clearly, in the dead silence of the courtroom:

“Yes, guilty!”

And then it was the same on each point: guilty, yes, guilty, and that without the least extenuation! This really no one had expected, almost everyone was certain at least of extenuation. The dead silence of the courtroom remained unbroken, everyone seemed literally turned to stone—both those who longed for conviction and those who longed for acquittal. But this lasted only for the first moments. Then a terrible chaos broke loose. Many among the male public turned out to be very pleased. Some even rubbed their hands with unconcealed joy. The displeased ones seemed crushed; they shrugged, whispered, as if still unable to comprehend it. But, my God, what came over our ladies! I thought they might start a riot! At first they seemed not to believe their ears. Then, suddenly, exclamations were heard all over the courtroom: “What’s that? What on earth is that?” They jumped up from their seats. They must have thought it could all be redone and reversed on the spot. At that moment Mitya suddenly rose and cried in a sort of rending voice, stretching his arms out before him:

“I swear by God and by his terrible judgment, I am not guilty of my father’s blood! Katya, I forgive you! Brothers, friends, have pity on the other woman!”