The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky [children's books read aloud TXT] 📗

Chapter 1

The Fatal Day

 

AT ten o’clock in the morning of the day following the events I

have described, the trial of Dmitri Karamazov began in our district

court.

 

I hasten to emphasise the fact that I am far from esteeming myself

capable of reporting all that took place at the trial in full

detail, or even in the actual order of events. I imagine that to

mention everything with full explanation would fill a volume, even a

very large one. And so I trust I may not be reproached, for

confining myself to what struck me. I may have selected as of most

interest what was of secondary importance, and may have omitted the

most prominent and essential details. But I see I shall do better

not to apologise. I will do my best and the reader will see for

himself that I have done all I can.

 

And, to begin with, before entering the court, I will mention what

surprised me most on that day. Indeed, as it appeared later,

everyone was surprised at it, too. We all knew that the affair had

aroused great interest, that everyone was burning with impatience

for the trial to begin, that it had been a subject of talk,

conjecture, exclamation and surmise for the last two months in local

society. Everyone knew, too, that the case had become known throughout

Russia, but yet we had not imagined that it had aroused such

burning, such intense, interest in everyone, not only among ourselves,

but all over Russia. This became evident at the trial this day.

 

Visitors had arrived not only from the chief town of our province,

but from several other Russian towns, as well as from Moscow and

Petersburg. Among them were lawyers, ladies, and even several

distinguished personages. Every ticket of admission had been

snatched up. A special place behind the table at which the three

judges sat was set apart for the most distinguished and important of

the men visitors; a row of armchairs had been placed there-something

exceptional, which had never been allowed before. A large proportion

not less than half of the public-were ladies. There was such a

large number of lawyers from all parts that they did not know where to

seat them, for every ticket had long since been eagerly sought for and

distributed. I saw at the end of the room, behind the platform, a

special partition hurriedly put up, behind which all these lawyers

were admitted, and they thought themselves lucky to have standing room

there, for all chairs had been removed for the sake of space, and

the crowd behind the partition stood throughout the case closely

packed, shoulder to shoulder.

 

Some of the ladies, especially those who came from a distance,

made their appearance in the gallery very smartly dressed, but the

majority of the ladies were oblivious even of dress. Their faces

betrayed hysterical, intense, almost morbid, curiosity. A peculiar

fact-established afterwards by many observations-was that almost all

the ladies, or, at least the vast majority of them, were on Mitya’s

side and in favour of his being acquitted. This was perhaps chiefly

owing to his reputation as a conqueror of female hearts. It was

known that two women rivals were to appear in the case. One of them-Katerina Ivanovna-was an object of general interest. All sorts of

extraordinary tales were told about her, amazing anecdotes of her

passion for Mitya, in spite of his crime. Her pride and

“aristocratic connections” were particularly insisted upon (she had

called upon scarcely anyone in the town). People said she intended

to petition the Government for leave to accompany the criminal to

Siberia and to be married to him somewhere in the mines. The

appearance of Grushenka in court was awaited with no less

impatience. The public was looking forward with anxious curiosity to

the meeting of the two rivals-the proud aristocratic girl and “the

hetaira.” But Grushenka was a more familiar figure to the ladies of

the district than Katerina Ivanovna. They had already seen “the

woman who had ruined Fyodor Pavlovitch and his unhappy son,” and

all, almost without exception, wondered how father and son could be so

in love with “such a very common, ordinary Russian girl, who was not

even pretty.”

 

In brief, there was a great deal of talk. I know for a fact that

there were several serious family quarrels on Mitya’s account in our

town. Many ladies quarrelled violently with their husbands over

differences of opinion about the dreadful case, and it was that the

husbands of these ladies, far from being favourably disposed to the

prisoner, should enter the court bitterly prejudiced against him. In

fact, one may say pretty certainly that the masculine, as

distinguished from the feminine, part of the audience was biased

against the prisoner. There were numbers of severe, frowning, even

vindictive faces. Mitya, indeed, had managed to offend many people

during his stay in the town. Some of the visitors were, of course,

in excellent spirits and quite unconcerned as to the fate of Mitya

personally. But all were interested in the trial, and the majority

of the men were certainly hoping for the conviction of the criminal,

except perhaps the lawyers, who were more interested in the legal than

in the moral aspect of the case.

 

Everybody was excited at the presence of the celebrated lawyer,

Fetyukovitch. His talent was well known, and this was not the first

time he had defended notorious criminal cases in the provinces. And if

he defended them, such cases became celebrated and long remembered all

over Russia. There were stories, too, about our prosecutor and about

the President of the Court. It was said that Ippolit Kirillovitch

was in a tremor at meeting Fetyukovitch, and that they