feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/The Brothers Karamazov/section_80_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The Brothers Karamazov.book 12.chapter 2
feat_summary_id: book 12, chapter 2
feat_summary: {"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": ""}
text: 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.
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Book 12, Chapter 2
target: 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.