Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (portable ebook reader txt) 📕

4. If the prisoner Euphemia Botchkova is not guilty according to

the first question, is she not guilty of having, on the 17th

January, in the town of N–-, while in service at the hotel

Mauritania, stolen from a locked portmanteau, belonging to the

merchant Smelkoff, a lodger in that hotel, and which was in the

room occupied by him, 2,500 roubles, for which object she

unlocked the portmanteau with a key she brought and fitted to the

lock?

The foreman read the first question.

“Well, gentlemen, what do you think?” This question was quickly

answered. All agreed to say “Guilty,” as if convinced that

Kartinkin had taken part both in the poisoning and the robbery.

An old artelshik, [member of an artel, an association of workmen,

in which the members share profits and liabilities] whose

answers were all in favour of acquittal, was the only exception.

The foreman thought he did not understand, and began to point out

to him that everything tended to prove Kartinkin’s guilt. The old

man answered that he did understand, but still thought it better

to have pity on him. “We are not saints ourselves,” and he kept

to his opinion.

The answer to the second question concerning Botchkova was, after

much dispute and many exclamations, answered by the words, “Not

guilty,” there being no clear proofs of her having taken part in

the poisoning—a fact her advocate had strongly insisted on. The

merchant, anxious to acquit Maslova, insisted that Botchkova was

the chief instigator of it all. Many of the jury shared this

view, but the foreman, wishing to be in strict accord with the

law, declared they had no grounds to consider her as an

accomplice in the poisoning. After much disputing the foreman’s

opinion triumphed.

To the fourth question concerning Botchkova the answer was

“Guilty.” But on the artelshik’s insistence she was recommended

to mercy.

The third question, concerning Maslova, raised a fierce dispute.

The foreman maintained she was guilty both of the poisoning and

the theft, to which the merchant would not agree. The colonel,

the clerk and the old artelshik sided with the merchant, the rest

seemed shaky, and the opinion of the foreman began to gain

ground, chiefly because all the jurymen were getting tired, and

preferred to take up the view that would bring them sooner to a

decision and thus liberate them.

From all that had passed, and from his former knowledge of

Maslova, Nekhludoff was certain that she was innocent of both the

theft and the poisoning. And he felt sure that all the others

would come to the same conclusion. When he saw that the

merchant’s awkward defence (evidently based on his physical

admiration for her, which he did not even try to hide) and the

foreman’s insistence, and especially everybody’s weariness, were

all tending to her condemnation, he longed to state his

objections, yet dared not, lest his relations with Maslova should

be discovered. He felt he could not allow things to go on without

stating his objection; and, blushing and growing pale again, was

about to speak when Peter Gerasimovitch, irritated by the

authoritative manner of the foreman, began to raise his

objections and said the very things Nekhludoff was about to say.

“Allow me one moment,” he said. “You seem to think that her

having the key proves she is guilty of the theft; but what could

be easier than for the servants to open the portmanteau with a

false key after she was gone?”

“Of course, of course,” said the merchant.

“She could not have taken the money, because in her position she

would hardly know what to do with it.”

“That’s just what I say,” remarked the merchant.

“But it is very likely that her coming put the idea into the

servants’ heads and that they grasped the opportunity and shoved

all the blame on her.” Peter Gerasimovitch spoke so irritably

that the foreman became irritated too, and went on obstinately

defending the opposite views; but Peter Gerasimovitch spoke so

convincingly that the majority agreed with him, and decided that

Maslova was not guilty of stealing the money and that the ring

was given her.

But when the question of her having taken part in the poisoning

was raised, her zealous defender, the merchant, declared that she

must be acquitted, because she could have no reason for the

poisoning. The foreman, however, said that it was impossible to

acquit her, because she herself had pleaded guilty to having

given the powder.

“Yes, but thinking 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 he began telling how his

brother-in-law’s wife would have died of an overdose of opium if

there had not been a doctor near at hand to take the necessary

measures. The colonel told his story so impressively, with such

self-possession and dignity, that no one had the courage to

interrupt him. Only the clerk, infected by his example, decided

to break in with a story of his own: “There are some who get so

used to it that they can take 40 drops. I have a relative—,” but

the colonel would not stand the interruption, and went on to

relate what effects the opium had on his brother-in-law’s wife.

“But, gentlemen, do you know it is getting on towards five

o’clock?” said one of the jury.

“Well, gentlemen, what are we to say, then?” inquired the

foreman. “Shall we say she is guilty, but without intent to rob?

And without stealing any property? Will that do?” Peter

Gerasimovitch, pleased with his victory, agreed.

“But she must be recommended to mercy,” said the merchant.

All agreed; only the old artelshik insisted that they should say

“Not guilty.”

“It comes to the same thing,” explained the foreman; “without

intent to rob, and without stealing any property. Therefore, ‘Not

guilty,’ that’s evident.”

“All right; that’ll do. And we recommend her to mercy,” said the

merchant, gaily.

They were all so tired, so confused by the discussions, that

nobody thought of saying that she was guilty of giving the powder

but without the intent of taking life. Nekhludoff was so excited

that he did not notice this omission, and so the answers were

written down in the form agreed upon and taken to the court.

Rabelais says that a lawyer who was trying a case quoted all

sorts of laws, read 20 pages of judicial senseless Latin, and

then proposed to the judges to throw dice, and if the numbers

proved odd the defendant would he right, if not, the plaintiff.

It was much the same in this case. The resolution was taken, not

because everybody agreed upon it, but because the president, who

had been summing up at such length, omitted to say what he always

said on such occasions, that the answer might be, “Yes, guilty,

but without the intent of taking life;” because the colonel had

related the story of his brother-in-law’s wife at such great

length; because Nekhludoff was too excited to notice that the

proviso “without intent to take life” had been omitted, and

thought that the words “without intent” nullified the conviction;

because Peter Gerasimovitch had retired from the room while the

questions and answers were being read, and chiefly because, being

tired, and wishing to get away as soon as possible, all were

ready to agree with the decision which would bring matters to an

end soonest.

The jurymen rang the bell. The gendarme who had stood outside the

door with his sword drawn put the sword back into the scabbard

and stepped aside. The judges took their seats and the jury came

out one by one.

The foreman brought in the paper with an air of solemnity and

handed it to the president, who looked at it, and, spreading out

his hands in astonishment, turned to consult his companions. The

president was surprised that the jury, having put in a

proviso—without intent to rob—did not put in a second

proviso—without intent to take life. From the decision of the

jury it followed that Maslova had not stolen, nor robbed, and yet

poisoned a man without any apparent reason.

“Just see what an absurd decision they have come to,” he

whispered to the member on his left. “This means penal servitude

in Siberia, and she is innocent.”

“Surely you do not mean to say she is innocent?” answered the

serious member.

“Yes, she is positively innocent. I think this is a case for

putting Article 817 into practice (Article 817 states that if the

Court considers the decision of the jury unjust it may set it

aside).”

“What do you think?” said the president, turning to the other

member. The kindly member did not answer at once. He looked at

the number on a paper before him and added up the figures; the

sum would not divide by three. He had settled in his mind that if

it did divide by three he would agree to the president’s

proposal, but though the sum would not so divide his kindness

made him agree all the same.

“I, too, think it should he done,” he said.

“And you?” asked the president, turning to the serious member.

“On no account,” he answered, firmly. “As it is, the papers

accuse the jury of acquitting prisoners. What will they say if

the Court does it? I, shall not agree to that on any account.”

The president looked at his watch. “It is a pity, but what’s to

be done?” and handed the questions to the foreman to read out.

All got up, and the foreman, stepping from foot to foot, coughed,

and read the questions and the answers. All the Court, secretary,

advocates, and even the public prosecutor, expressed surprise.

The prisoners sat impassive, evidently not understanding the

meaning of the answers. Everybody sat down again, and the

president asked the prosecutor what punishments the prisoners

were to be subjected to.

The prosecutor, glad of his unexpected success in getting Maslova

convicted, and attributing the success entirely to his own

eloquence, looked up the necessary information, rose and said:

“With Simeon Kartinkin I should deal according to Statute 1,452

paragraph 93. Euphemia Botchkova according to Statute …, etc.

Katerina Maslova according to Statute …, etc.”

All three punishments were the heaviest that could he inflicted.

“The Court will adjourn to consider the sentence,” said the

president, rising. Everybody rose after him, and with the

pleasant feeling of a task well done began to leave the room or

move about in it.

“D’you know, sirs, we have made a shameful hash of it?” said

Peter Gerasimovitch, approaching Nekhludoff, to whom the foreman

was relating something. “Why, we’ve got her to Siberia.”

“What are you saying?” exclaimed Nekhludoff. This time he did not

notice the teacher’s familiarity.

“Why, we did not put in our answer ‘Guilty, but without intent of

causing death.’ The secretary just told me the public prosecutor

is for condemning her to 15 years’ penal servitude.”

“Well, but it was decided so,” said the foreman.

Peter Gerasimovitch began to dispute this, saying that since she

did not take the money it followed naturally that she could not

have had any intention of committing murder.

“But I read the answer before going out,” said the foreman,

defending himself, “and nobody objected.”

“I had just then gone out of the room,” said Peter Gerasimovitch,

turning to Nekhludoff, “and your thoughts must have been

wool-gathering to let the thing pass.”

“I never imagined this,” Nekhludoff replied.

“Oh, you didn’t?”

“Oh, well, we can get it put