I made the preliminary examinations in the mosaic room in which I had
loved at one time to loll on the soft divan and pay court to gipsies.
The first person I examined was Urbenin. He was brought to me from
Olga's room, where he continued to sit on a stool in a corner and
never removed his eyes from the empty bed. . . . For a moment he stood
before me in silence, looking at me with indifference, then probably
thinking that I wanted to speak to him in my character of examining
magistrate, he said in the tired voice of a man who was broken by
grief and anguish:
“Sergei Petrovich, examine the other witnesses first, please, and me
afterwards. . . . I can't . . .”
Urbenin considered himself a witness, or thought that he would be
considered one. . . .
“No, I require to examine you just now,” I said. “Be seated,
please. . . .”
Urbenin sat down opposite to me and bent his head. He was weary and
ill, he answered reluctantly, and it was only with difficulty I was
able to squeeze his deposition out of him.
He deposed that he was Pëtr Egorych Urbenin, nobleman, fifty years of
age, belonging to the Orthodox Faith. That he owned an estate in the
neighbouring K—— district where he belonged to the electorate, and had
served for the last triennials as honorary magistrate. Being ruined,
he had mortgaged his estate and had considered it necessary to go into
service. He had entered the Count's service as bailiff six years ago.
Liking agriculture, he was not ashamed of being in the service of a
private individual, and considered that it was only the foolish who
were ashamed of work. He received his salary from the Count regularly,
and he had nothing to complain of. He had a son and daughter from his
first marriage, etc., etc., etc.
He had married Olga because he was passionately in love with her. He
had struggled long and painfully with his feelings, but neither common
sense nor the logic of a practical elderly mind—in fact, nothing had
effect: he was obliged to succumb to his feelings and he got married.
He knew that Olga did not marry him for love, but considering her to
be moral in the highest degree, he decided to content himself with her
faithfulness and friendship, which he had hoped to merit.
When he came to the place where his disenchantment and the wrongs done
to his grey hairs began, Urbenin asked permission not to speak of “the
past which God will forgive her” or at least to defer the conversation
about that to a future time.
“I can't. . . . It's hard. . . . Besides, you yourself saw it.”
“Very well, let us leave it for another time. . . . Only tell me now,
did you beat your wife? It is reported that one day, finding a note
from the Count in her possession, you struck her. . . .”
“That is not true. . . . I only seized her by the arm, she began to
cry, and that same evening she went to complain. . . .”
“Did you know of her connexion with the Count?”
“I have begged that this subject should be deferred. . . . And what is
the use of it?”
“Answer me only this one question, which is of great importance. . . .
Was your wife's connexion with the Count known to you?”
“Undoubtedly. . . .”
“I shall write that down, and all the rest concerning your wife's
unfaithfulness can be left for the next time. . . . Now we will revert
to another question. Will you explain to me how it came that you were
in the forest where Olga Nikolaevna was murdered? . . . You were as
you say, in the town. . . . How did you appear in the forest?”
“Yes, sir, I had been living in town with a cousin ever since I lost
my place. . . . I passed my time in looking for a place and in
drinking to forget my sorrows. . . . I had been drinking specially
hard this last month. For example, I can't remember what happened last
week as I was always drunk. . . . The day before yesterday I got drunk
too. . . . In a word I am lost. . . . Irremediably lost! . . .”
“You wanted to tell me how it was that you appeared yesterday in the
forest?”
“Yes, sir. . . . I awoke yesterday morning early, about four
o'clock. . . . My head was aching from the previous day's drink, I had
pains in all my limbs as if I had fever. . . . I lay on my bed and saw
through the window the sun rise, and I remembered . . . many
things. . . . A weight was on my heart. . . . Suddenly I wanted to see
her . . . to see her once more, perhaps for the last time. I was
seized by wrath and melancholy. . . . I drew from my pocket the
hundred-rouble note the Count had sent me. I looked at it, and then
trampled it underfoot. . . . I trampled on it till I decided to go and
fling this charity into his face. However hungry and ragged I may be,
I cannot sell my honour, and every attempt to buy it I consider a
personal insult. So you see, sir, I wanted to have a look at Olga and
fling the money into the ugly mug of that seducer. And this longing
overpowered me to such an extent that I almost went out of my mind. I
had no money to drive here; I could not spend _his_ hundred roubles on
myself. I started on foot. By good luck a muzhik I know overtook me,
and drove me eighteen versts for ten kopecks, otherwise I might still
have been trudging along. The muzhik set me down in Tenevo. From there
I came here on foot and arrived about four o'clock.”
“Did anybody see you here at that time?”
“Yes, sir. The watchman, Nikolai, was sitting at the gate and told me
the masters were not at home, they had all gone out shooting. I was
almost worn out with fatigue, but the desire to see my wife was
stronger than my pains. I had to go on foot without a moment's rest to
the place where they were shooting. I did not go by the road, but
started through the forest. I know every tree, and it would be as
difficult for me to lose myself in the Count's forests as it would be
in my own house.”
“But going through the forest and not by the road you might have
missed the shooting party.”
“No, sir, I kept so close to the road all the time that I could not
only hear the shots but the conversations too.”
“Consequently you did not expect to meet your wife in the forest?”
Urbenin looked at me with astonishment, and, after thinking for a
short time, he replied:
“Pardon me, but that is a strange question. One can't expect to meet a
wolf, and to expect a terrible misfortune is equally impossible. God
sends them unexpectedly. For example, this dreadful occurrence. . . .
I was walking through the Ol'khovsky wood, not expecting any grief
because I have grief enough as it is, when suddenly I heard a strange
shriek. The shriek was so piercing that it appeared to me as if
somebody had cut into my ear. . . . I ran towards the cry. . . .”
Urbenin's mouth was drawn to one side, his chin trembled, his eyes
blinked, and he began to sob.
“I ran towards the cry, and suddenly I saw . . . Olga lying on the
ground. Her hair and forehead were bloody, her face terrible. I began
to shout, to call her by her name. . . . She did not move. . . . I
kissed her, I raised her up. . . .”
Urbenin choked and covered his face with his hands. After a minute he
continued:
“I did not see the scoundrel . . . When I was running towards her I
heard somebody's hasty footsteps. He was probably running away.”
“All this is an excellent invention, Pëtr Egorych,” I said. “But do
you know magistrates have little belief in such rare occurrences as
the coincidence of the murder with your accidental walk, etc. It's not
badly invented, but it explains very little.”
“What do you mean by invented?” Urbenin asked, opening his eyes wide.
“I have invented nothing, sir. . . .”
Suddenly Urbenin got very red and rose.
“It appears that you suspect me. . . .” he mumbled. “Of course,
anybody can suspect, but you, Sergei Petrovich, have known me
long. . . . It's a sin for you to brand me with such a
suspicion. . . . But you know me.”
“I know you, certainly . . . but my private opinion is here of no
avail. . . . The law reserves the right of private opinion for the
jurymen, the examining magistrate has only to deal with evidence.
There is much evidence, Pëtr Egorych.”
Urbenin cast an alarmed look at me and shrugged his shoulders.
“Whatever the evidence may be,” he said, “you must understand. . . .
Now, could I? . . . I! Besides whom?! I might be able to kill a quail
or a woodcock, but a human being . . . a woman who was dearer to me
than life, my salvation . . . the very thought of whom illuminates my
gloomy nature like the sun. . . . And suddenly you suspect me!”
Urbenin waved his hand resignedly and sat down again.
“As it is, I long for death, and you wrong me besides! If an unknown
functionary wronged me, I'd say nothing, but you, Sergei
Petrovich! . . . May I go away, sir?”
“You may. . . . I shall examine you again to-morrow, and in the
meantime, Pëtr Egorych, I must put you under arrest. . . . I hope that
before to-morrow's examination you will have had time to appreciate
the importance of all the evidence there is against you, and you will
not waste time uselessly, but confess. I am convinced that Olga
Nikolaevna was murdered by you. . . . I have nothing more to say to
you to-day. . . . You may go.”
Having said this I bent over my papers. . . . Urbenin looked at me in
perplexity, rose, and stretched out his arms in a strange way.
“Are you joking . . . or serious?” he asked.
“This is no time for joking,” I said. “You may go.”
Urbenin remained standing before me. I looked up at him. He was pale
and looked with perplexity at my papers.
“Why are your hands blood-stained, Pëtr Egorych?” I asked.
He looked down at his hands on which there still were marks of blood,
and he moved his fingers.
“Why there is blood? . . . Hm . . . If this is part of the evidence,
it is but poor evidence. . . . When I lifted up blood-stained Olga I
could not help dirtying my hands with blood. I was not wearing
gloves.”
“You just told me that when you found your wife all bloody, you called
for help. . . . How is it that nobody heard your cries?”
“I don't know, I was so stunned by the sight of Olia, that I was
unable to cry aloud. . . . Besides, I know nothing. . . . It is
useless for me to try to exculpate myself, and it's not in my
principles to do so.”
“You would hardly have shouted. . . . Having killed your wife, you ran
away, and were terribly astonished when you saw people on the
clearing.”
“I never noticed your people. I paid no heed to people.”
With this my examination for that day was concluded. After that
Urbenin was confined in one of the outhouses on the Count's estate and
watched.