by Karel Čapek
Could the wound have been inflicted with this object ?
It could. One can’t say with certainty that it was, but this object is sufiiciendy sharp, and thin, to produce a similar wound. It would do very well, thought the doctor. Yes, and death ensued almost immediately. And the rash doctor hurried away.
The prison doctor gave evidence. Polana Hordubalova, according to the usual signs, was in the eighth month of pregnancy.—Accused, said the judge, you need not get up. Who is father of the child which you are expecting ?
Juraj, whispered Polana with her eyes on the ground.
Hordubal returned five months ago. With whom then have you the child.
Polana remained silent.
Old Manya declined to give evidence; Stepan buried his face in his hands; the old man dried his tears in his red handkerchief. By the way, Manya, do you recognize this object ?
Old Manya nodded. Oh, it’s our needle, it’s for making baskets. He was pleased, and would have liked to put it in his pocket. No, no, my good man, it must stay here.
Michal and Dula also declined to give evidence. Marja Jano& was called. Do you wish to give evidence? Yes. Is it true that your brother Stepan asked your husband to murder Juraj Hordubal ? It is true, your honour, but my husband—not even for a hundred oxen, he said. Did Stepan have relations with the accused? Eh, he had, he himself boasted of it at home. Stepan is a bad man, your honour. It was not good to betroth him to a child; God be praised that nothing came of it.—And was your brother very angry when Hordubal threw him out? Marja crossed herself: Ah, Lord, like a devil: he wouldn’t eat, or drink, or even smoke.—The witness stood down, and at the door she cried: What a shame, your honour.—May I leave this money to help Stepan ?—No, no, woman, there’s no need of money, go with God.
Janos was called. Do you wish to give evidence ? As you wish, your honour. Is it true that Stepan asked you to murder Hordubal ? The witness was embarrassed and blinked his eyes. It is true that he said something about it. You are poor, he said, you would earn some money.—And what were you to do for the money ?—How do I know, your honour, such silly talk.—Did he tell you to kill Hordubal?—No, I should not say so, your honour. It’s a long time ago. It was only a talk about money. Why should I carry such stupid things in my head ? And I’m a fool, he said. A fool, well perhaps a fool, but it won’t bring me to the gallows, my lad.—Aren’t you drunk, my man?—I am, your honour; I had a glass to give me courage; it’s not easy to talk to you gentlemen.
The trial was then adjourned until the next day. Stepan’s eyes sought Polana’s, but Hordubal’s widow looked as if carved out of ivory, as if she did not know of him: bony, unattractive, wooden. No one looked at Stepan, only at her. Him, a dark-looking lout! Is it seldom that one fellow kills another ? But this—his own wife, I ask you, what a life if you can’t even trust your own wife! Even at home in bed you can’t feel safe, they’ll stick you like a pig. Hordubal’s widow passed through a corridor of hate which closed behind her like water. Eh, with a stake he ought to have beaten her to death, like a wolf when it’s caught in a trap. She ought to hang, said the women. There’s no justice in the world if she’s not hanged. Oh, get on with you, you old hens, growled the men, women, you know, are not hanged; lock her up for life.—If women judged they’d hang the bitch for certain. I’d put the rope round her neck myself.—Don’t you talk, Marika, it’s not a woman’s job. But they’ll certainly string Stepan up.
Yes, yes, Stepka; and he didn’t kill one of his own family. If they don’t hang Polana, won’t women soon be killing their husbands ? Any woman might get it into her head—in a family, my friends, in the married state, there’s no lack of reasons. No, no, she ought to be hanged. And how can they hang her when she’s expecting a baby ? That, that will be no baby, it will be the devil himself.
Simon Fazekas called Leca was called to give evidence. He saw Polana standing with Stepan on the day when the murder took place, behind the brook. Stepan Manya, do you still decline to admit that on that day you were in Kriva, and talked with Polana Hordubalova ?—I was not there.—Accused, did Manya talk with you behind the brook ?—He did not.—But you told the policemen that he did.—The policemen forced me.
Juliana Varvarinova, Hordubal’s neighbour, made her statement. Yes, she used to see Hordubal, he walked about like a body without a soul. Polana would not cook for him, after he had sacked Stepan, but she used to cook chickens and young pigs for the farm worker. She slept with Manya every night, may God not punish her, the neighbour spat out,—but when Hordubal returned who knows where she met the farm worker; she never set foot in the stable again. In the last few days Hordubal even used to go round at night and shine a light everywhere, as if he were keeping watch.
And listen, witness, you saw Hordubal throw Stepan over the fence. Had Stepan his coat on then ? He had not, he was only in his trousers and shirt. And did he go away without the coat? Yes, your honour. So this coat which he is wearing now must have been left behind with his things at Hordubal’s? Stepan Manya, when did you go back to Kriva for this coat ?
Stepan stood up, and blinked uncertainly.
You took it away the night that Juraj Hordubal was murdered. You can sit down. And the public prosecutor made a note with an air of having won a victory.
Take both the accused away, commanded the president of the court, as Hafia Hordubalova was called to give evidence.
A blue-eyed, pretty little girl was brought in; there was a breathless silence.
You needn’t be afraid, little one, come here, said the president of the court, paternally. If you don’t want to you needn’t give evidence. Do you wish to make any statement ?
The girl stared and looked questioningly at the learned gentlemen in gowns.
Do you wish to give evidence? Hafia nodded obediently. Ye-es.
Was your mother in the habit of going into the stable when Stepan was there ? Ye-es, every night. Did you see them together sometimes ? I did, once Uncle Stepan held her in his arms, and threw her down in the straw. And what about the farmer, your daddy, was he sometimes with your mother? No, not daddy, only Uncle Stepan. And when your father returned from America did your mother go to your uncle? Hafia shook her head. And how do you know? Because my father was at home, said the child quietly with experience. But Uncle Stepan used to say that he would not stay here, that everything was different.
Was your father good? Hafia shrugged her shoulders in embarrassment. And Stepan ? Oh, Stepan was good. Was your mother good to your father ? No. And to you ? did she like you ? She only liked Uncle Stepan. Did she cook for him well ? She did, but he used to give me some of it. And who did you like best ? The girl wriggled shyly. Uncle Stepan.
And what happened, Hafia, that evening when your daddy died ? Where did you sleep ? With mammy, in the room. Did anything wake you ? It did. Somebody knocked at the window, and mammy sat up on the bed. What happened next ? Next, nothing, mammy said that I ought to sleep, or did I want to get a spanking. And did you sleep ? Yes, I did. And didn’t you hear anything more ? Nothing. Only somebody was walking in the yard, and mammy was gone. And who was walking—do you know? The girl opened her mouth with astonishment. Why, Stepan. Who else would mammy be with ?
A silence fell on the court so painful that it was difficult to get one’s breath. There will be an interval, commanded the president hurriedly, and he himself led out Hafia by the hand. You are a good little girl, he mumbled, good and sensible; but you should be glad that you don’t understand what it’s about. The jury-searched in their pockets for something to give Hafia; they pressed round her, patted her, and stroked her hair.
And where’s Stepan ? inquired Hafia in a silvery voice. And here was the fat Gelnaj, he puffed and made his way to Hafia: Come, little one, come, I’m going to take you home. But the corridors were full of people, who gave Hafia, this one an apple, that one an egg, or a piece of cake, they sniffed into their handkerchiefs, and shed copious tears. Hafia kept tight hold of Gelnaj’s fat finger, an
d she was near to crying herself; but Gelnaj said, Don’t cry, I’ll buy you some toffee, and she jumped with pleasure.
The trial proceeded; sometimes as if it had run into a knot, which several hands had to unravel. Pjosa called Husar gave evidence, Alexa Vorobec Demetrov, and his wife, Anna, and the wife of Kobyla Herpak, gave evidence about the woman, Polana Hordubalova. Ah, God, what things people know of others, it’s a shame; the Lord need not pass judgment, people judge. And a man called Misa, a shepherd, asked permission to make a statement. Come here, witness, you need not take the oath.
What?
You need not take the oath. How old are you ?
What?
How old are you, Misa ?
Oh, I don’t know, What does it matter ? In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Juraj Hordubal asked me to give a message that his wife was good and faithful.
Wait, Misa, what message did he send ? When did he tell you that?
Oh, when—well, I don’t know. It rained then. He told me to tell them. You, Misa, they’ll believe you.
God be with you, my man, and you came all the way from Kriva for this ?
What?
You can go, Misa, we don’t want you any more.
Oh, thank you, God bless you.
Farkas the glazier gave evidence. Stepan Manya bought the glass-cutter from me. And do you know him ? Why not, it’s that one there, the yellow one. Stand up, Manya; do you admit that you bought this glass-cutter from Farkas the glazier ? I do not. You may sit down, Manya, but you won’t help yourself like this.
Barah’s wife gave evidence, Hryca’s wife, and Fedor Bobal’s wife. What a shame, Polana, eh! They point their fingers at you, they tell of your unchastity, women stone the woman caught in adultery. No one looks at Stepan Manya now, in vain you cover your pregnant womb with your crossed hands, you can’t cover your sin; Stepan killed, but you sinned. Look at her, the huzzy, she doesn’t even bow her head, she doesn’t cry, she doesn’t prostrate herself and touch the ground with her head, she looks as if she wanted to say: go on, talk, talk, what does it matter to me ?
Accused, have you anything to say against the statement of Marta Bobalova?
I have not. And she did not bow her head, she did not blush with shame, she did not fall down with dishonour: like a statue.
Are there any more witnesses ? Very well, the trial is adjourned until to-morrow. But that little Hafia gave her evidence very nicely, didn’t she ? Such a baby, my friend, and what an experience she’s had already! Dreadful, dreadful. And yet her evidence—like a clear stream flowing. So matter-of-fact in everything—as if there was nothing amiss in what she were saying. But the whole village is against Polana. It’s a bad case for Polana; for Stepan, of course, as well, but why worry about Stepan—a subordinate figure ? Yes, yes, the village has come to understand that a question of morals is at stake, my friend. You might say, the people of Kriva are avenging an order which has been violated. Strange, usually, when this and that happens in a family, people don’t take it so seriously, do they ? It seems as if Polana did not only commit adultery but something worse as well. What do you say? Well, an offence against the community; so she incurred the hostility of the village.
Be cursed, Polana! Haven’t you all seen, how she carried her head? That she felt no shame! She even smiled when Fedor Bobal’s wife said that the women wanted to smash her windows for her adultery. Yes, her head still higher, and she smiled as if she had something to be proud of. Oh, go on, uncle, I should like to see her myself, then; and is she nice-looking ? I hope God doesn’t punish me, nice-looking! She must have cast a spell over Stepan, I say, she must have blinded his eyes; thin, I tell you, and her eyes—only to stab with; she must be evil, I think. But the child, like a picture; we all cried—when one thinks of her, an orphan! And you see, even before the child that woman wasn’t ashamed, she committed adultery before her own daughter. Well, a devil, I say. Oh, you ought to go and see her, uncle!
Let us in, let us in, we want to see her, the huzzy! Oh, well, we’ll keep together, and stand as if we were in church, but do let us in! Don’t push so much, you people, your fur coats will make the noble court stink! Get away from that door!
Look at that one sitting so up straight and gaunt, that’s her. Really, who’d ever say it was her ? She looks just like any ordinary woman. And where’s Stepan ? Oh, you can only see his shoulders. And the one who’s just getting up, the tall one in the gown, he’s the public prosecutor himself. Silence, silence, now you will hear something.
Gentlemen of the jury, I have gone, through the facts of the situation as they were ascertained by the exemplary work of the police (in the body of the court Biegl prodded Gelnaj), and as they emerged in the statements of the witnesses. I should like to take this opportunity of thanking them all. Gentlemen, in my long career I have never attended a trial in which the statements of the witnesses were imbued with such a deep, such a passionate devotion to the cause of justice as in this case. The whole village, the whole population of Kriva, men, women, and children, came before you, not only to give evidence, but to complain to God, and to man, of an adulterous woman. It is not I in the name of the law, but the people themselves who are the prosecutors, and plaintiffs. According to the letter of the law you are going to judge a crime. According to the conscience of these, God’s people, you are going to judge a sin.
The public prosecutor was certain of his case, but at that moment he hesitated. (Why do I talk about sin ? Do we try the souls of men, or only their deeds ? Only deeds, that’s true—but do not deeds spring from the soul? Eh, mind the blind alleys! After all, the case is so simple-) Gentlemen of the jury, the case which you have to decide is clear, terribly clear in its simplicity. You have here only three persons. The first is the farmer Juraj Hordubal, a simple man, a good fellow, perhaps with a rather weak mind. He worked hard in America, he earned five to six dollars a day, four of which he sent to his family, to his wife, so that she could have an easier life. The voice of the public prosecutor acquired a strange throaty sharpness. And this money, earned with blood and sweat, the woman gave to—a young farm worker, who had no scruples in being kept as the paramour of an ageing mistress. Would Stepan stop at anything for money! He broke up the home of the emigrant, he estranged the mother from her child, and prompted by his mistress, he killed the sleeping husband for a bag of money. What a crime—what a sin of avarice! (The public prosecutor paused. Crime, not sin. This isn’t God’s judgment.)
And then here is—this woman. As you see her, cold, calculating, hard. Between her and the young farmer there could be no affection, not even sinful love; only lust, only sin, only sin.—She sustained the instrument of her lust, she pampered him, not even for her own daughter did she care. God touched her with his finger; in her sin she became pregnant. And then the husband returned from America, God himself sent him to punish the adultery in his house. But Juraj was weak; no one of us, no other man would, I hope, have borne in silence what this man suffered, this weak-minded husband who perhaps only wanted to have peace in this home. But with his coming the flood of dollars stopped, the mistress had no longer the means with which to retain the favour of a young ne’er-do-well. Stepan Manya left the service of sin; and then the incomprehensible weakling, Hordubal, undoubtedly under the instigation of his wife, himself offered him the hand of his little daughter, he offered him money and his farm if he would return….
The public prosecutor felt himself choking with disgust. And even that was not enough. It seems that Stepan sponged on him and threatened him. Then at last, even the poor victim could bear no more, and he threw the good-for-nothing out of his house, but from that moment he was afraid for his life, and he looked for work anywhere on the other side of the hills, at night he went round with a lantern and kept watch. The vile plan, however, was ready; the old peasant was too much in the way of the base woman and the greedy workman; adultery and avarice combined against him. The victim fell ill, he could not keep guard, and could not defend
himself; the following morning he was found stabbed through the heart. He was killed while he was asleep.
And is this the end? The public prosecutor seemed surprised himself; he had a splendid and eloquent peroration ready, but somehow it stuck in his throat, and suddenly snap, the end; he sat down, and he himself did not know how it had come about. He glanced inquiringly at the president of the court, he seemed to nod and acquiesce: the jury swallowed something in their throats, they sniffed, and wiped their noses, and two began to cry openly. The public prosecutor sighed with relief.
Manya’s counsel stood up, a big man, and a barrister with a great reputation. The public prosecutor, at the end of his able speech, appealed to the heart of Juraj Hordubal. Allow me, gentlemen of the jury, to begin the defence of my client with this same heart. And as night follows day it’s clear that the prosecution itself admits that there are discrepancies in the expert evidence. Was the heart of Hordubal stabbed through or shot ? Was the instrument of murder that inconspicuous needle belonging to Manya, or a gun carried by some person unknown ? For myself I incline to the view of the learned scientific expert who with absolute certainty speaks of a gun of the smallest calibre. Well, gentlemen, if Juraj Hordubal was shot, the perpetrator of the deed was not Stepan Manya. And so on: step by step the famous barrister tore the body of evidence to shreds, and emphasized each point with his fat hand. There is not one single piece of evidence incriminating my client, it is all circumstantial. I do not appeal to the feelings of the noble jury, I am sure that on the evidence brought before them by the prosecution, and what has emerged during the trial, they cannot find Stepan Manya guilty. And the famous barrister sat down victoriously and with deliberation.
As if one had pressed a button, a new black figure sprang up, Polana Hordubalova’s counsel, a young and handsome man. There was not one single bit of direct evidence against his client which suggested that she had been an accomplice in the murder of Juraj Hordubal; it had all been deduced from suggestions, from circumstances, and from hypothetical interrelations. Gentlemen of the jury, those interrelations are founded on the supposition that Polana Hordubalova had a motive for desiring the death of her husband, that is to say that she was unfaithful to him. Gentlemen, I pray you : if conjugal infidelity were a sufficient motive for murder—how many men, how many women, here in the town, in the village, in Kriva itself, would now be alive? Rather let that go; but I ask you, how do we know that Polana Hordubalova committed adultery ? All the people of the village, it’s true, have made their way here, and given evidence against the accused. But, gentlemen, pause and think: which of us is safe against one’s next, and one’s neighbours ? Do each of you realize what the others say of you ? Perhaps even worse things than of this unhappy woman; no integrity can protect you against lying and dishonourable gossip. The prosecution did not deny itself one witness who was jealous and brave enough to disgrace a defenceless woman—
