THE COLLECTED WORKS OF ANTON CHEKHOV. Anton Chekhov
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Название: THE COLLECTED WORKS OF ANTON CHEKHOV
Автор: Anton Chekhov
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9788027201389
isbn:
‘A clever story,’ Polugradov murmured under his breath, as he sat swinging his leg, ‘he is never at a loss for an answer!’
‘I know I am speaking the truth, and I can’t understand that you cultivated men cannot see the difference between truth and falsehood! But I know there is prejudice against me. It is only too easy to get the wrong idea when I come up for trial. I can understand your position… I can imagine how, taking into consideration my brutal physiognomy, my drunkenness… My physiognomy is not brutal, but prejudice will have its way…”
‘Very well, very well, enough,’ Polugradov said, bending over his papers, ‘Go!’
After Urbenin had left, we proceeded to examine the Count.
His Excellency was pleased to come to the examination in his dressing-gown, with a vinegar bandage on his head; having been introduced to Polugradov he sank into an armchair, and began to give his evidence:
I shall tell you everything from the very beginning… Well, and how is your President Lionsky getting on? Has he still not divorced his wife? I made his acquaintance in Petersburg, quite by chance… Gentlemen, why don’t you order something to be brought? Somehow it’s jollier to talk with a glass of cognac before you… I have not the slightest doubt that Urbenin committed this murder.’
And the Count told us all that the reader already knows. At the request of the prosecutor he told us all the details of his life with Olga, and described the delights of living with a beautiful woman, and was so carried away by his subject that he smacked his lips, and winked several times. From his evidence I learned a very important detail that is unknown to the reader. I learned that Urbenin while living in the town had constantly bombarded the Count with letters; in some letters he cursed him, in others he implored him to return his wife to him, promising to forget all wrongs, and dishonour; the poor devil caught at these letters like a drowning man catches at straws.
The Assistant Prosecutor examined two or three of the coachmen and then, having had a very good dinner, he gave me a long list of instructions, and drove away. Before leaving he went into the adjoining house where Urbenin was confined, and told him that our suspicions of his guilt had become certainties. Urbenin only shrugged his shoulders, and asked permission to be present at his wife’s funeral; this permission was granted him.
Polugradov did not lie to Urbenin: yes, our suspicions had become convictions, we were convinced that we knew who the criminal was, and that he was already in our hands; but this conviction did not abide with us for long!
CHAPTER XXX
One fine morning, just as I was sealing up a parcel which I was about to send by the guard, who was to take Urbenin to be locked up in the castle-prison in town, I heard a terrible noise. Looking out of the window I saw an amusing sight: some dozen strong young fellows were dragging one-eyed Kuz’ma out of the servants’ kitchen.
Kuz’ma pale and dishevelled had his feet firmly planted on the ground, and being deprived of the use of his arms, butted at his adversaries with his large head.
‘Your Honour, please go and see him!’ Il’ya said to me, in great alarm, ‘he… does not want to come!’
‘Who does not want to come?’
‘The murderer.’
‘What murderer?’
‘Kuz’ma… He committed the murder, your Honour… Pëtr Egorych is suffering unjustly… As God is my witness, sir.’
I went into the yard and walked towards the servants’ kitchen, where Kuz’ma, who had torn himself out of the strong arms of his opponents, was administering cuffs to right and left.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, when I came up to the crowd.
Then I was told something very strange and unexpected.
‘Your Honour, Kuz’ma killed her!’
‘They lie!’ Kuz’ma shouted. ‘May God kill me if they don’t lie!’
‘But why did you, son of a devil, wash off the blood, if your conscience is clear? Stop a moment, his Honour will examine all this!’
One of the grooms, Trifon, riding past the river, had seen Kuz’ma washing something carefully in the water. At first Trifon thought he was washing linen, but looking more attentively he saw it was a poddevka and a waistcoat. He thought this strange: such clothes are not usually washed.
‘What are you doing?’ Trifon called to him.
Kuz’ma became confused. Looking more attentively, Trifon noticed brown spots on the poddevka.
I guessed at once that it must be blood… I went into the kitchen and told our people; they watched, and saw him at night hanging out the poddevka to dry. Of course they took fright. Why should he wash it, if he is not guilty? He must have something on his soul he is trying to hide… We thought and thought, and decided to bring him to your Honour… We were dragging him to you, but he keeps backing away and spitting in our eyes. Why should he back away if he is not guilty?’
From further examination it appeared that just before the murder, at the time when the Count and his guests were sitting in the clearing, drinking tea, Kuz’ma had gone into the forest. He had not helped in carrying Olga, and therefore could not have got blood on his clothes by this means.
When he was brought to my room Kuz’ma was so excited that at first he could not utter a word; turning up the white of his single eye he crossed himself and mumbled oaths.
‘Be calm; tell me what you know and I will let you go,’ I said to him.
Kuz’ma fell at my feet, stammering and calling on God.
‘May I perish if I had anything to do with it… May neither my father nor my mother… Your Honour! May God destroy my soul…’
‘You went into the forest?’
‘That’s quite true, sir, I went… I had served cognac to the guests and, forgive me, I had tippled a little; it went to my head, and I wanted to lie down; I went, lay down, and fell asleep… But who killed her, or how I don’t know, so help me God… It’s the truth I’m telling you!’
‘But why did you wash off the blood?’
‘I was afraid that people might imagine… that I might be taken as a witness…’
‘How did the blood get on your poddevka?’
‘I don’t know, your Honour.’
‘Why don’t you know? Isn’t the poddevka yours?’
‘Yes, certainly it’s mine, but I don’t know: I saw the blood when I woke up again.”So then, I suppose you dirtied the poddevka with blood in your sleep?’
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