The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky [children's books read aloud TXT] 📗

>Fomitch Kalganov, too, was standing beside you at the time. Maybe he’d

remember it…”

 

The evidence as to the “sixth” thousand made an extraordinary

impression on the two lawyers. They were delighted with this new

mode of reckoning; three and three made six, three thousand then and

three now made six, that was clear.

 

They questioned all the peasants suggested by Trifon Borissovitch,

Stepan and Semyon, the driver Andrey, and Kalganov. The peasants and

the driver unhesitatingly confirmed Trifon Borissovitch’s evidence.

They noted down, with particular care, Andrey’s account of the

conversation he had had with Mitya on the road: “‘Where,’ says he, ‘am

I, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, going, to heaven or to hell, and shall I be

forgiven in the next world or not?’” The psychological Ippolit

Kirillovitch heard this with a subtle smile, and ended by recommending

that these remarks as to where Dmitri Fyodorovitch would go should

be “included in the case.”

 

Kalganov, when called, came in reluctantly, frowning and

ill-humoured, and he spoke to the lawyers as though he had never met

them before in his life, though they were acquaintances whom he had

been meeting every day for a long time past. He began by saying that

“he knew nothing about it and didn’t want to.” But it appeared that he

had heard of the” sixth” thousand, and he admitted that he had been

standing close by at the moment. As far as he could see he “didn’t

know” how much money Mitya had in his hands. He affirmed that the

Poles had cheated at cards. In reply to reiterated questions he stated

that, after the Poles had been turned out, Mitya’s position with

Agrafena Alexandrovna had certainly improved, and that she had said

that she loved him. He spoke of Agrafena Alexandrovna with reserve and

respect, as though she had been a lady of the best society, and did

not once allow himself to call her Grushenka. In spite of the young

man’s obvious repugnance at giving evidence, Ippolit Kirillovitch

examined him at great length, and only from him learnt all the details

of what made up Mitya’s “romance,” so to say, on that night. Mitya did

not once pull Kalganov up. At last they let the young man go, and he

left the room with unconcealed indignation.

 

The Poles, too, were examined. Though they had gone to bed in

their room, they had not slept all night, and on the arrival of the

police officers they hastily dressed and got ready, realising that

they would certainly be sent for. They gave their evidence with

dignity, though not without some uneasiness. The little Pole turned

out to be a retired official of the twelfth class, who had served in

Siberia as a veterinary surgeon. His name was Mussyalovitch. Pan

Vrubelvsky turned out to be an uncertificated dentist. Although

Nikolay Parfenovitch asked them questions on entering the room they

both addressed their answers to Mihail Makarovitch, who was standing

on one side, taking him in their ignorance for the most important

person and in command, and addressed him at every word as “Pan

Colonel.” Only after several reproofs from Mihail Makarovitch himself,

they grasped that they had to address their answers to Nikolay

Parfenovitch only. It turned out that they could speak Russian quite

correctly except for their accent in some words. Of his relations with

Grushenka, past and present, Pan Mussyalovitch spoke proudly and

warmly, so that Mitya was roused at once and declared that he would

not allow the “scoundrel” to speak like that in his presence! Pan

Mussyalovitch at once called attention to the word “scoundrel,” and

begged that it should be put down in the protocol. Mitya fumed with

rage.

 

“He’s a scoundrel! A scoundrel! You can put that down. And put

down, too, that, in spite of the protocol I still declare that he’s

a scoundrel!” he cried.

 

Though Nikolay Parfenovitch did insert this in the protocol, he

showed the most praiseworthy tact and management. After sternly

reprimanding Mitya, he cut short all further inquiry into the romantic

aspect of the case, and hastened to pass to what was essential. One

piece of evidence given by the Poles roused special interest in the

lawyers: that was how, in that very room, Mitya had tried to buy off

Pan Mussyalovitch, and had offered him three thousand roubles to

resign his claims, seven hundred roubles down, and the remaining two

thousand three hundred “to be paid next day in the town.” He had sworn

at the time that he had not the whole sum with him at Mokroe, but that

his money was in the town. Mitya observed hotly that he had not said

that he would be sure to pay him the remainder next day in the town.

But Pan Vrublevsky confirmed the statement, and Mitya, after

thinking for a moment admitted, frowning, that it must have been as

the Poles stated, that he had been excited at the time, and might

indeed have said so.

 

The prosecutor positively pounced on this piece of evidence. It

seemed to establish for the prosecution (and they did, in fact, base

this deduction on it) that half, or a part of, the three thousand that

had come into Mitya’s hands might really have been left somewhere

hidden in the town, or even, perhaps, somewhere here, in Mokroe.

This would explain the circumstance, so baffling for the

prosecution, that only eight hundred roubles were to be found in

Mitya’s hands. This circumstance had been the one piece of evidence

which, insignificant as it was, had hitherto told, to some extent,

in Mitya’s favour. Now this one piece of evidence in his favour had

broken down. In answer to the prosecutor’s inquiry, where he would

have got the remaining two thousand three hundred roubles, since he

himself had denied having more than fifteen hundred, Mitya confidently

replied that he had meant to offer the “little chap,” not money, but a

formal deed of conveyance of his rights to the village of

Tchermashnya, those rights which he had already offered to Samsonov

and Madame Hohlakov. The prosecutor positively smiled at the

“innocence of this subterfuge.”

 

“And you imagine he would have accepted such a deed as a

substitute for two thousand three hundred roubles in cash?”

 

“He certainly would have accepted it,” Mitya declared warmly.

“Why, look here, he might have grabbed not two thousand, but four or

six, for it. He would have put his lawyers, Poles and Jews, on to

the job, and might have got, not three thousand, but the whole

property out of the old man.”

 

The evidence of Pan Mussyalovitch was, of course, entered in the

protocol in the fullest detail. Then they let the Poles go. The

incident of the cheating at cards was hardly touched upon. Nikolay

Parfenovitch was too well pleased with them, as it was, and did not

want to worry them with trifles, moreover, it was nothing but a

foolish, drunken quarrel over cards. There had been drinking and

disorder enough, that night…. So the two hundred roubles remained in

the pockets of the Poles.

 

Then old Maximov was summoned. He came in timidly, approached with

little steps, looking very dishevelled and depressed. He had, all this

time, taken refuge below with Grushenka, sitting dumbly beside her,

and “now and then he’d begin blubbering over her and wiping his eyes

with a blue check handkerchief,” as Mihail Makarovitch described

afterwards. So that she herself began trying to pacify and comfort

him. The old man at once confessed that he had done wrong, that he had

borrowed “ten roubles in my poverty,” from Dmitri Fyodorovitch, and

that he was ready to pay it back. To Nikolay Parfenovitch’s direct

question, had he noticed how much money Dmitri Fyodorovitch held in

his hand, as he must have been able to see the sum better than

anyone when he took the note from him, Maximov, in the most positive

manner, declared that there was twenty thousand.

 

“Have you ever seen so much as twenty thousand before, then?”

inquired Nikolay Parfenovitch, with a smile.

 

“To be sure I have, not twenty, but seven, when my wife

mortgaged my little property. She’d only let me look at it from a

distance, boasting of it to me. It was a very thick bundle, all

rainbow-coloured notes. And Dmitri Fyodorovitch’s were all

rainbow-coloured…”

 

He was not kept long. At last it was Grushenka’s turn. Nikolay

Parfenovitch was obviously apprehensive of the effect her appearance

might have on Mitya, and he muttered a few words of admonition to him,

but Mitya bowed his head in silence, giving him to understand “that he

would not make a scene.” Mihail Makarovitch himself led Grushenka

in. She entered with a stern and gloomy face, that looked almost

composed, and sat down quietly on the chair offered her by Nikolay

Parfenovitch. She was very pale, she seemed to be cold, and wrapped

herself closely in her magnificent black shawl. She was suffering from

a slight feverish chill-the first symptom of the long illness which

followed that night. Her grave air, her direct earnest look and

quiet manner made a very favourable impression on everyone. Nikolay

Parfenovitch was even a little bit “fascinated.” He admitted

himself, when talking about it afterwards, that only then had he

seen “how handsome the woman was,” for, though he had seen her several

times he had always looked upon her as something of a “provincial

hetaira.” “She has the manners of the best society,” he said

enthusiastically, gossiping about her in a circle of ladies. But

this was received with positive indignation by the ladies, who

immediately called him a “naughty man,” to his great satisfaction.

 

As she entered the room, Grushenka only glanced for an instant

at Mitya, who looked at her uneasily. But her face reassured him at

once. After the first inevitable inquiries and warnings, Nikolay

Parfenovitch asked her, hesitating a little, but preserving the most

courteous manner, on what terms she was with the retired lieutenant,

Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov. To this Grushenka firmly and quietly

replied:

 

“He was an acquaintance. He came to see me as an acquaintance

during the last month.” To further inquisitive questions she

answered plainly and with complete frankness, that, though “at

times” she had thought him attractive, she had not loved him, but

had won his heart as well as his old father’s “in my nasty spite,”

that she had seen that Mitya was very jealous of Fyodor Pavlovitch and

everyone else; but that had only amused her. She had never meant to go

to Fyodor Pavlovitch, she had simply been laughing at him. “I had no

thoughts for either of them all this last month. I was expecting

another man who had wronged me. But I think,” she said in

conclusion, “that there’s no need for you to inquire about that, nor

for me to answer you, for that’s my own affair.”

 

Nikolay Parfenovitch immediately acted upon this hint. He again

dismissed the “romantic” aspect of the case and passed to the

serious one, that is, to the question of most importance, concerning

the three thousand roubles. Grushenka confirmed the statement that

three thousand roubles had certainly been spent on the first

carousal at Mokroe, and, though she had not counted the money herself,

she had heard that it was three thousand from Dmitri Fyodorovitch’s

own lips.

 

“Did he tell you that alone, or before someone else, or did you

only hear him speak of it to others in your presence?” the

prosecutor inquired immediately.

 

To which Grushenka replied that she had heard him say so before

other people, and had heard him say so when they were alone.

 

“Did he say it to you alone once, or several times?” inquired

the prosecutor, and learned that he had told Grushenka so several

times.

 

Ippolit Kirillovitch