23
AT last the presiding judge finished his speech and, picking up the list of questions with a graceful movement, he handed it to the foreman, who came forward to take it. The jury rose, glad to be able to get away, and one after another went to the jury-room, looking ashamed somehow and not knowing what to do with their hands. As soon as the door had closed behind them a gendarme went up to it and, pulling his sword out of the scabbard and raising it to his shoulder, took up his position there. The judges rose and left the court. The defendants were also led out.
Again the first thing the jury did when they reached their room was to get out their cigarettes and start smoking. The unnaturalness and falseness of their situation, which to a greater or less degree they had all been conscious of, sitting in their places in the court, passed as soon as they entered the jury-room and lit their cigarettes, and with a feeling of relief they settled down and immediately started an animated conversation.
‘The girl’s not guilty, she didn’t know what she was doing,’ said the kind-hearted merchant. ‘We must let her down easy.’
‘That’s just what we have to consider,’ said the foreman. ‘We must not be misled by our personal impressions.’
‘That was a good summing up the president made,’ remarked the colonel.
‘Good, you call it? It nearly sent me to sleep.’
‘The chief point is that the servants couldn’t have known about the money if Maslova had not been in league with them,’ said the Jewish-looking clerk.
‘So you think she stole it?’ asked one of the jury.
‘You’ll never make me believe that,’ cried the kind-hearted merchant, ‘it was all that red-eyed old witch!’
‘A nice lot, all of them,’ said the colonel.
‘But she says she never went into the room.’
‘Take her word for it if you like. I wouldn’t for the world believe a slut like that.’
‘Whether you would believe her or not doesn’t settle the matter,’ said the clerk.
‘She was the one who had the key.’
‘What if she did?’ retorted the merchant.
‘And the ring?’
‘She told us about that, didn’t she?’ cried the merchant again. ‘The fellow had a temper, and he’d been drinking, and walloped the girl. Well then, naturally, he was sorry. “Here, don’t cry,” he says, “have this.” From what they said he was a strapping fellow, six foot five tall – must have weighed all of twenty stone.’
‘That’s not the point,’ interrupted Piotr Gerassimovich. ‘The question is, was she the chief instigator of the whole affair, or was it the servant-woman?’
‘The servant-woman couldn’t have done it alone. The other one had the key.’
This random talk went on for some time. At last the foreman said: ‘Please, gentlemen, I propose that we seat ourselves round the table and discuss the case. Come, please.’ And he took the chair.
‘Those girls are a bad lot,’ said the clerk, and as a confirmation of his opinion that Maslova must have been the chief culprit he related how a friend of his had had his watch stolen on the boulevard by one of her sort.
This gave the colonel the opportunity to narrate a still more startling story about the theft of a silver samovar.
‘Gentlemen, I beg you to give your attention to the questions,’ said the foreman, tapping the table with his pencil.
All were silent. The questions had been framed as follows:
1. Is the peasant of the village of Borki in the district of Krapivensk, Simon Petrov Kartinkin, thirty-three years of age, guilty of having conspired on the seventeenth day of January 188– in the city of —— to deprive the merchant Smelkov of his life, for the purpose of robbing him, in company with others, by administering to him poisoned brandy, thereby causing the death of the said Smelkov, and of having stolen from him some two thousand five hundred roubles and a diamond finger-ring?
2. Is Euphemia Botchkova, forty-three years of age, working class, guilty of the crimes described above?
3. Is Katerina Mikhailovna Maslova, twenty-seven years of age, working class, guilty of the crimes described in the first question?
4. If the defendant Euphemia Botchkova is not guilty of the crimes set down in the first question, is she guilty of having, on the seventeenth day of January 188–, in the city of ——, while in the service of the Hotel Mavritania, stolen from a locked portmanteau belonging to the merchant Smelkov, a guest at the said hotel, and which was in the room occupied by him, the sum of two thousand five hundred roubles, for which purpose she unlocked the portmanteau with a key which she brought and fitted to the lock?
The foreman read out the first question.
“Well, gentlemen, what do you say?’
This question was quickly answered. All agreed to say ‘Guilty’, finding him guilty of participation in both the poisoning and the robbery. The only one who refused to find Kartinkin guilty was an old artisan who voted for an acquittal on all counts.
The foreman thought he did not understand, and explained to him that there was no possible doubt that Kartinkin and Botchkova were guilty, but the old man replied that he understood all right but that it would be better to exercise mercy. ‘We’re not saints ourselves,’ he said, and stuck to his opinion.
The second question, concerning Botchkova, was answered after much talk and discussion by ‘Not guilty’, there being no clear proof that she had taken part in the poisoning – a point upon which her counsel had dwelt most emphatically.
The merchant, anxious to acquit Maslova, kept insisting that Botchkova was the chief instigator of the whole thing. Many of the jurors sided with him, but the foreman, trying to remain within strictly legal bounds, said that there were no grounds for considering her an accomplice in the poisoning. After much argument the foreman won the day.
To the fourth question, concerning Botchkova, the answer was ‘Guilty’ – but at the old artisan’s insistence they added a recommendation to mercy.
But the third question, relating to Maslova, raised a fierce dispute. The foreman insisted that she was guilty both of the poisoning and of the robbery, but the merchant disagreed and was supported by the colonel, the clerk and the old artisan – the rest seemed to be wavering, but the opinion of the foreman began to gain ground, especially since all the jurymen were tired and therefore the more ready to support the opinion which promised the sooner to unite and so release them all.
From all that had come out at the judicial investigation, and from his former knowledge of Maslova, Nekhlyudov felt sure that she was innocent of both the robbery and the poisoning, and at first he was confident that all of them would recognize this; but when he saw how the merchant’s clumsy defence (obviously based on his personal fancy for the girl, of which he made no secret) had aroused the opposition of the foreman, and how their general fatigue was inclining them to find a verdict of guilty, he wanted to object, but he was afraid to speak up for Maslova – it seemed to him that at any moment they would all discover his relations with her. Yet at the same time he felt he could not leave things as they were, and must protest. He blushed and grew pale by turns, and was on the point of opening his mouth to speak when Piotr Gerassimovich, who up to then had been silent but was now evidently irritated by the foreman’s authoritative manner, suddenly began to argue with him and said in so many words precisely what Nekhlyudov was about to say.
‘One moment, please,’ he said. ‘You say she must have committed the theft because she had the key. But could not the hotel servants have unlocked the portmanteau with some key of their own after she had gone?’
‘Hear, hear!’ the merchant seconded.
‘She just couldn’t have taken the money, because in her situation she couldn’t dispose of it.’
‘That’s exactly what I say,’ confirmed the merchant.
‘It is more likely that her going to the room put the idea into the servants’ heads and they seized the opportunity and then shifted all the blame on her.’
Piotr Gerassimovich spoke irritably. And his irritation infected the foreman, who consequently began more obstinately still to urge the opposite view; but Piotr Gerassimovich spoke so convincingly that the majority agreed with him in believing that Maslova had taken no part in stealing the money, and that the finger-ring had been a present to her. And when they went on to discuss her complicity in the poisoning her ardent champion, the merchant, declared that she must be acquitted because she could have no motive for poisoning. The foreman, however, said that it was impossible to acquit her of that, since she herself had pleaded guilty to giving him the powder.
‘Yes, but she thought it was opium,’ said the merchant.
‘Opium can also deprive one of life,’ said the colonel, who was fond of wandering from the subject; and thereupon he began to tell them how his brother-in-law’s wife had taken an overdose of opium and poisoned herself, and would certainly have died had there not been a doctor at hand to take the proper measures in time. The colonel told his story so impressively, and with such self-assurance and dignity, that no one had the courage to interrupt him. Only the clerk, infected by his example, decided to break in with a tale of his own.
‘Some people get so used to it,’ he began, ‘that they can take forty drops at a time. A relative of mine –’
But the colonel would tolerate no interruption, and continued to relate the effects of the opium on his brother-in-law’s wife.
‘Why, it’s gone four o’clock, gentlemen,’ said one of the jurors.
‘Well, gentlemen, what do you say then?’ the foreman addressed them. ‘Let us find her guilty without intent to rob, and without stealing any property. Will that do?’
Piotr Gerassimovich, satisfied with his victory, assented.
‘But we must recommend her to mercy,’ added the merchant.
They all agreed to this. The old artisan was the only one to hold out for a verdict of ‘Not guilty’.
‘That’ s really what it amounts to,’explained the foreman. ‘Without intent to rob, and without stealing any property. That makes her not guilty.’
‘Go on, that’ll do. And we recommend her to mercy. That should see the end of it,’ cried the merchant gaily.
They were all so worn out and so muddled with arguing that nobody thought of adding the clause, ‘but without intent to take life’.
Nekhlyudov was in such a state of agitation that he did not notice the omission. And so the answers were written down in the form agreed upon, and taken back to the courtroom.
Rabelais tells of a lawyer to whom people had come about a lawsuit who, after quoting all sorts of laws and reading twenty pages of meaningless judicial Latin, invited the contending parties to throw dice: odds or even. If an even number turned up, the plaintiff was right; if odd – it was the defendant.
It was much the same in this case. This, instead of another verdict was returned, not because all were agreed but because, first, the presiding judge, who had summed up at such length, this time omitted to say what he always said, namely, that they could find a verdict of ‘Guilty – but without intent to take life’; secondly, because the colonel had told such a long and tedious story about his brother-in-law’s wife; and thirdly, because Nekhlyudov had been so agitated that he did not notice the omission of the proviso ‘without intent to take life’ and thought that the words ‘without intent to rob’ nullified the charge; and fourthly, because Piotr Gerassimovich happened to leave the room just as the foreman was reading over the questions and replies; and – chiefly – because everybody was tired and they all wanted to get away as soon as possible and were therefore ready to agree to the verdict which would bring matters to an end soonest.
The jury rang the bell. The gendarme standing at the door with drawn sword put it back into the scabbard and stepped aside. The judges took their seats and the jury filed in.
The foreman carried the sheet of paper with a portentous air. He went up to the president and presented it to him. The president read it and, obviously surprised, shrugged his shoulders and turned to consult his colleagues. The president was surprised that the jury, having put in the first proviso, ‘without intent to rob’, should have omitted the second, ‘without intent to take life’. It followed, according to the jury’s findings, that Maslova has not stolen, had not robbed, but had poisoned a man without any apparent object.
‘Just look at this absurd verdict,’ he said to the member on his left. ‘This means penal servitude, and she is innocent.’
‘What do you mean, innocent?’ said the surly member.
‘Simply not guilty. In my view this comes under Article 818.’ (Article 818 states that if the Court finds the charge unjust it may set aside the jury’s verdict.)
‘What do you think?’ the judge asked the kind-hearted member.
The kind-hearted member did not immediately reply. He looked at the number on a paper before him and added up the figures: it would not divide by three. He had settled in his mind that if the number did divide by three he would agree with the president; but though it would not divide, in the kindness of his heart he agreed with him.
‘I think so too,’ he said.
‘And you?’ said the president, turning to the irritable member.
‘On no account,’ he replied emphatically. ‘As it is, the papers are saying that juries acquit criminals. What will they say if the Court does the same thing? I shall not consent in any circumstances.’
The president looked at the clock.
‘Well, I am sorry,’ he said. ‘Then nothing can be done,’ and he handed the questions to the foreman to read out.
Everyone rose, and the foreman, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, cleared his throat and read out the questions and the answers. The whole court – secretary, lawyers, even the prosecuting counsel – showed surprise.
The defendants sat impassive, apparently not understanding what the answers meant. Everybody sat down again, and the president asked the prosecutor what sentences he suggested for the defendants.
The prosecutor, elated over his unexpected success in obtaining Maslova’s conviction, and ascribing this success to his own eloquence, consulted some papers, stood up and said:
‘Simon Kartinkin should be dealt with in accordance with Article 1452 and paragraph 4 of Article 1453; Euphemia Botchkova in accordance with Article 1659; and Katerina Maslova in accordance with Article 1454.’
All these punishments were the heaviest that could be inflicted.
‘The Court will adjourn to consider sentence,’ said the president, rising.
Everybody rose after him, and with the relief and the pleasant feeling of a task well done began to leave the room or walk about.
‘I say, my dear fellow, we have made a shameful hash of it,’ said Piotr Gerassimovich, going up to Nekhlyudov, to whom the foreman was relating something. ‘Why, we’ve dispatched her to Siberia.’
‘What’s that?’ cried Nekhlyudov, this time oblivious of the teacher’s familiarity.
‘Of course we have. We didn’t put “Guilty, but without intent to take life” in our answer. The secretary’s just told me that the prosecutor is for sentencing her to fifteen years’ penal servitude.’
‘But that’s the way we decided,’ said the foreman.
Piotr Gerassimovich began to argue, saying that it was self-evident that if she did not take the money she could not have had any intention of committing murder.
‘But I read the answers to you before we came out,’ said the foreman, trying to justify himself. ‘No one raised any objection.’
‘I wasn’t in the room at that moment,’ said Piotr Gerassimovich. ‘But how was it you were caught napping?’ he asked Nekhlyudov.
‘It’s obvious you didn’t.’
‘But we can get it put right,’ said Nekhlyudov.
‘Oh. no, it’s too late for that now.’
Nekhlyudov looked at the prisoners. Their fate about to be decided, they still sat motionless behind the railing, in front of the soldiers. Maslova was smiling at something. Up to now, expecting her acquittal and that she would remain in the town, he had not made up his mind how he would act towards her. Any kind of relation with her would be difficult. But penal servitude and Siberia at once destroyed every possibility of any relations with her: the wounded bird would stop fluttering in the game-bag and would remind him of its existence no longer.