whether Karamazov could, like Hamlet, wonder 'What lies beyond.' No, gentlemen of the jury, they have their Hamlets, but we still have our Karamazovs!"Here Ippolit Kirillovitch drew a minute picture of Mitya's preparations, the scene at Perhotin's, at the shop, with the drivers.He quoted numerous words and actions, confirmed by witnesses, and the picture made a terrible impression on the audience.The guilt of this harassed and desperate man stood out clear and convincing, when the facts were brought together.
"What need had he of precaution? Two or three times he almost confessed, hinted at it, all but spoke out." (Then followed the evidence given by witnesses.) "He even cried out to the peasant who drove him, 'Do you know, you are driving a murderer!' But it was impossible for him to speak out, he had to get to Mokroe and there to finish his romance.But what was awaiting the luckless man?
Almost from the first minute at Mokroe he saw that his invincible rival was perhaps by no means so invincible, that the toast to their new-found happiness was not desired and would not be acceptable.But you know the facts, gentlemen of the jury, from the preliminary inquiry.Karamazov's triumph over his rival was complete and his soul passed into quite a new phase, perhaps the most terrible phase through which his soul has passed or will pass.
"One may say with certainty, gentlemen of the jury," the prosecutor continued, "that outraged nature and the criminal heart bring their own vengeance more completely than any earthly justice.
What's more, justice and punishment on earth positively alleviate the punishment of nature and are, indeed, essential to the soul of the criminal at such moments, as its salvation from despair.For Icannot imagine the horror and moral suffering of Karamazov when he learnt that she loved him, that for his sake she had rejected her first lover, that she was summoning him, Mitya, to a new life, that she was promising him happiness- and when? When everything was over for him and nothing was possible!
"By the way, I will note in parenthesis a point of importance for the light it throws on the prisoner's position at the moment.This woman, this love of his, had been till the last moment, till the very instant of his arrest, a being unattainable, passionately desired by him but unattainable.Yet why did he not shoot himself then, why did he relinquish his design and even forget where his pistol was?
It was just that passionate desire for love and the hope of satisfying it that restrained him.Throughout their revels he kept close to his adored mistress, who was at the banquet with him and was more charming and fascinating to him than ever- he did not leave her side, abasing himself in his homage before her.
"His passion might well, for a moment, stifle not only the fear of arrest, but even the torments of conscience.For a moment, oh, only for a moment! I can picture the state of mind of the criminal hopelessly enslaved by these influences- first, the influence of drink, of noise and excitement, of the thud of the dance and the scream of the song, and of her, flushed with wine, singing and dancing and laughing to him! Secondly, the hope in the background that the fatal end might still be far off, that not till next morning, at least, they would come and take him.So he had a few hours and that's much, very much! In a few hours one can think of many things.Iimagine that he felt something like what criminals feel when they are being taken to the scaffold.They have another long, long street to pass down and at walking pace, past thousands of people.Then there will be a turning into another street and only at the end of that street the dread place of execution! I fancy that at the beginning of the journey the condemned man, sitting on his shameful cart, must feel that he has infinite life still before him.The houses recede, the cart moves on- oh, that's nothing, it's still far to the turning into the second street and he still looks boldly to right and to left at those thousands of callously curious people with their eyes fixed on him, and he still fancies that he is just such a man as they.
But now the turning comes to the next street.Oh, that's nothing, nothing, there's still a whole street before him, and however many houses have been passed, he will still think there are many left.
And so to the very end, to the very scaffold.
"This I imagine is how it was with Karamazov then.'They've not had time yet,' he must have thought, 'I may still find some way out, oh, there's still time to make some plan of defence, and now, now- she is so fascinating!'