“Well, he is piling it on now, isn’t he?” said the president with a smile, bending towards the serious member.
“A fearful blockhead!” said the serious member.
Meanwhile the public prosecutor went on with his speech. “Gentlemen of the jury,” gracefully swaying his body, “the fate of society is to a certain extent in your power. Your verdict will influence it. Grasp the full meaning of this crime, the danger that awaits society from those whom I may perhaps be permitted to call pathological individuals, such as Máslova. Guard it from infection; guard the innocent and strong elements of society from contagion or even destruction.”
And as if himself overcome by the significance of the expected verdict, the public prosecutor sank into his chair, highly delighted with his speech.
The sense of the speech, when divested of all its flowers of rhetoric, was that Máslova, having gained the merchant’s confidence, hypnotised him and went to his lodgings with his key meaning to take all the money herself, but having been caught in the act by Simeon and Euphémia had to share it with them. Then, in order to hide the traces of the crime, she had returned to the lodgings with the merchant and there poisoned him.
After the prosecutor had spoken, a middle-aged man in swallowtail coat and low-cut waistcoat showing a large half-circle of starched white shirt, rose from the advocates’ bench and made a speech in defence of Kartínkin and Bótchkova; this was an advocate engaged by them for 300 roubles. He acquitted them both and put all the blame on Máslova. He denied the truth of Máslova’s statements that Bótchkova and Kartínkin were with her when she took the money, laying great stress on the point that her evidence could not be accepted, she being charged with poisoning. “The 2,500 roubles,” the advocate said, “could have been easily earned by two honest people getting from three to five roubles per day in tips from the lodgers. The merchant’s money was stolen by Máslova and given away, or even lost, as she was not in a normal state.”
The poisoning was committed by Máslova alone; therefore he begged the jury to acquit Kartínkin and Bótchkova of stealing the money; or if they could not acquit them of the theft, at least to admit that it was done without any participation in the poisoning.
In conclusion the advocate remarked, with a thrust at the public prosecutor, that “the brilliant observations of that gentleman on heredity, while explaining scientific facts concerning heredity, were inapplicable in this case, as Bótchkova was of unknown parentage.” The public prosecutor put something down on paper with an angry look, and shrugged his shoulders in contemptuous surprise.
Then Máslova’s advocate rose, and timidly and hesitatingly began his speech in her defence.
Without denying that she had taken part in the stealing of the money, he insisted on the fact that she had no intention of poisoning Smelkóff, but had given him the powder only to make him fall asleep. He tried to go in for a little eloquence in giving a description of how Máslova was led into a life of debauchery by a man who had remained unpunished while she had to bear all the weight of her fall; but this excursion into the domain of psychology was so unsuccessful that it made everybody feel uncomfortable. When he muttered something about men’s cruelty and women’s helplessness, the president tried to help him by asking him to keep closer to the facts of the case. When he had finished the public prosecutor got up to reply. He defended his position against the first advocate, saying that even if Bótchkova was of unknown parentage the truth of the doctrine of heredity was thereby in no way invalidated, since the laws of heredity were so far proved by science that we can not only deduce the crime from heredity, but heredity from the crime. As to the statement made in defence of Máslova, that she was the victim of an imaginary (he laid a particularly venomous stress on the word imaginary) seducer, he could only say that from the evidence before them it was much more likely that she had played the part of temptress to many and many a victim who had fallen into her hands. Having said this he sat down in triumph. Then the prisoners were offered permission to speak in their own defence.
Euphémia Bótchkova repeated once more that she knew nothing about it and had taken part in nothing, and firmly laid the whole blame on Máslova. Simeon Kartínkin only repeated several times: “It is your business, but I am innocent; it’s unjust.” Máslova said nothing in her defence. Told she might do so by the president, she only lifted her eyes to him, cast a look round the room like a hunted animal, and, dropping her head, began to cry, sobbing aloud.
“What is the matter?” the merchant asked Nekhlúdoff, hearing him utter a strange sound. This was the sound of weeping fiercely kept back. Nekhlúdoff had not yet understood the significance of his present position, and attributed the sobs he could hardly keep back and the tears that filled his eyes to the weakness of his nerves. He put on his pince-nez in order to hide the tears, then got out his handkerchief and began blowing his nose.
Fear of the disgrace that would befall him if everyone in the court knew of his conduct stifled the inner working of his soul. This fear was, during this first period, stronger than all else.
XXII
After the last words of the prisoners had been heard, the form in which the questions were to be put to the jury was settled, which also took some
