Resurrection - Leo Tolstoy (me reader TXT) 📗

the value of 2,500 roubles, and of having given the said merchant, Smelkóff, poison to drink, with intent of depriving him of life, and thereby causing his death. This crime is provided for in clause 1455 of the Penal Code, paragraphs 4 and 5.” XI

When the reading of the indictment was over, the president, after having consulted the members, turned to Kartínkin, with an expression that plainly said: “Now we shall find out the whole truth down to the minutest detail.”

“Peasant Simeon Kartínkin,” he said, stooping to the left.

Simeon Kartínkin got up, stretched his arms down his sides, and leaning forward with his whole body, continued moving his cheeks inaudibly.

“You are accused of having on the 17th day of January, 188-, together with Euphémia Bótchkova and Katerína Máslova, stolen money from a portmanteau belonging to the merchant Smelkóff, and then, having procured some arsenic, persuaded Katerína Máslova to give it to the merchant Smelkóff in a glass of brandy, which was the cause of Smelkóff’s death. Do you plead guilty?” said the president, stooping to the right.

“Not nohow, because our business is to attend on the lodgers, and⁠—”

“You’ll tell us that afterwards. Do you plead guilty?”

“Oh, no, sir. I only⁠—”

“You’ll tell us that afterwards. Do you plead guilty?” quietly and firmly asked the president.

“Can’t do such a thing, because that⁠—”

The usher again rushed up to Simeon Kartínkin, and stopped him in a tragic whisper.

The president moved the hand with which he held the paper and placed the elbow in a different position with an air that said: “This is finished,” and turned to Euphémia Bótchkova.

“Euphémia Bótchkova, you are accused of having, on the 17th of January, 188-, in the lodging-house Mauritánia, together with Simeon Kartínkin and Katerína Máslova, stolen some money and a ring out of the merchant Smelkóff’s portmanteau, and having shared the money among yourselves, given poison to the merchant Smelkóff, thereby causing his death. Do you plead guilty?”

“I am not guilty of anything,” boldly and firmly replied the prisoner. “I never went near the room, but when this baggage went in she did the whole business.”

“You will say all this afterwards,” the president again said, quietly and firmly. “So you do not plead guilty?”

“I did not take the money nor give the drink, nor go into the room. Had I gone in I should have kicked her out.”

“So you do not plead guilty?”

“Never.”

“Very well.”

“Katerína Máslova,” the president began, turning to the third prisoner, “you are accused of having come from the brothel with the key of the merchant Smelkóff’s portmanteau, money, and a ring.” He said all this like a lesson learned by heart, leaning towards the member on his left, who was whispering into his ear that a bottle mentioned in the list of the material evidence was missing. “Of having stolen out of the portmanteau money and a ring,” he repeated, “and shared it. Then, returning to the lodging-house Mauritánia with Smelkóff, of giving him poison in his drink, and thereby causing his death. Do you plead guilty?”

“I am not guilty of anything,” she began rapidly. “As I said before I say again, I did not take it⁠—I did not take it; I did not take anything, and the ring he gave me himself.”

“You do not plead guilty of having stolen 2,500 roubles?” asked the president.

“I’ve said I took nothing but the forty roubles.”

“Well, and do you plead guilty of having given the merchant Smelkóff a powder in his drink?”

“Yes, that I did. Only I believed what they told me, that they were sleeping powders, and that no harm could come of them. I never thought, and never wished⁠ ⁠… God is my witness; I say, I never meant this,” she said.

“So you do not plead guilty of having stolen the money and the ring from the merchant Smelkóff, but confess that you gave him the powder?” said the president.

“Well, yes, I do confess this, but I thought they were sleeping powders. I only gave them to make him sleep; I never meant and never thought of worse.”

“Very well,” said the president, evidently satisfied with the results gained. “Now tell us how it all happened,” and he leaned back in his chair and put his folded hands on the table. “Tell us all about it. A free and full confession will be to your advantage.”

Máslova continued to look at the president in silence, and blushing.

“Tell us how it happened.”

“How it happened?” Máslova suddenly began, speaking quickly. “I came to the lodging-house, and was shown into the room. He was there, already very drunk.” She pronounced the word he with a look of horror in her wide-open eyes. “I wished to go away, but he would not let me.” She stopped, as if having lost the thread, or remembered something else.

“Well, and then?”

“Well, what then? I remained a bit, and went home again.”

At this moment the public prosecutor raised himself a little, leaning on one elbow in an awkward manner.

“You would like to put a question?” said the president, and having received an answer in the affirmative, he made a gesture inviting the public prosecutor to speak.

“I want to ask, was the prisoner previously acquainted with Simeon Kartínkin?” said the public prosecutor, without looking at Máslova, and, having put the question, he compressed his lips and frowned.

The president repeated the question. Máslova stared at the public prosecutor, with a frightened look.

“With Simeon? Yes,” she said.

“I should like to know what the prisoner’s acquaintance with Kartínkin consisted in. Did they meet often?”

“Consisted in?⁠ ⁠… He invited me for the lodgers; it was not an acquaintance at all,” answered Máslova, anxiously moving her eyes from the president to the public prosecutor and back to the president.

“I should like to know why Kartínkin invited only Máslova, and none of the other girls, for the lodgers?” said the public prosecutor, with half-closed eyes and a cunning, Mephistophelian smile.

“I don’t know. How should I know?” said Máslova, casting a frightened look round, and fixing her eyes for a moment on