Resurrection
drink, with intent of depriving him of life, and thereby causing his
death. This crime is provided for in clause 1,455 of the Penal Code,
paragraphs 4 and 5.
CHAPTER XI.
THE TRIAL--MASLOVA CROSS-EXAMINED.
When the reading of the indictment was over, the president, after having
consulted the members, turned to Kartinkin, with an expression that
plainly said: Now we shall find out the whole truth down to the minutest
detail.
“Peasant Simeon Kartinkin,” he said, stooping to the left.
Simeon Kartinkin 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 January, 188--, together with
Euphemia Botchkova and Katerina Maslova, stolen money from a portmanteau
belonging to the merchant Smelkoff, and then, having procured some
arsenic, persuaded Katerina Maslova to give it to the merchant Smelkoff
in a glass of brandy, which was the cause of Smelkoff’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 Kartinkin, 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 Euphemia Botchkova.
“Euphemia Botchkova, you are accused of having, on the 17th of January,
188-, in the lodging-house Mauritania, together with Simeon Kartinkin
and Katerina Maslova, stolen some money and a ring out of the merchant
Smelkoff’s portmanteau, and having shared the money among yourselves,
given poison to the merchant Smelkoff, 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.”
“Katerina Maslova,” the president began, turning to the third prisoner,
“you are accused of having come from the brothel with the key of the
merchant Smelkoff’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 Mauritania with Smelkoff, 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 40 roubles.”
“Well, and do you plead guilty of having given the merchant Smelkoff 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 Smelkoff, 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.”
Maslova continued to look at the president in silence, and blushing.
“Tell us how it happened.”
“How it happened?” Maslova 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 some thing 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
Kartinkin?” said the public prosecutor, without looking at Maslova, and,
having put the question, he compressed his lips and frowned.
The president repeated the question. Maslova 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 Kartinkin
consisted in. Did they meet often?”
“Consisted in? . . . He invited me for the lodgers; it was not an
acquaintance at all,” answered Maslova, anxiously moving her eyes from
the president to the public prosecutor and back to the president.
“I should like to know why Kartinkin invited only Maslova, 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 Maslova, casting a frightened
look round, and fixing her eyes for a moment on Nekhludoff. “He asked
whom he liked.”
“Is it possible that she has recognised me?” thought Nekhludoff, and the
blood rushed to his face. But Maslova turned away without distinguishing
him from the others, and again fixed her eyes anxiously on the public
prosecutor.
“So the prisoner denies having had any intimate relations with
Kartinkin? Very well, I have no more questions to ask.”
And the public prosecutor took his elbow off the desk, and began writing
something. He was not really noting anything down, but only going over
the letters of his notes with a pen, having seen the procureur and
leading advocates, after putting a clever question, make a note, with
which, later on, to annihilate their adversaries.
The president did not continue at once, because he was consulting the
member with the spectacles, whether he was agreed that the questions
(which had all been prepared be forehand and written out) should be put.
“Well! What happened next?” he then went on.
“I came home,” looking a little more boldly only at the president, “and
went to bed. Hardly had I fallen asleep when one of our girls, Bertha,
woke me. ‘Go, your merchant has come again!’ He”--she again uttered the
word _he_ with evident horror--“he kept treating our girls, and then
wanted to send for more wine, but his money was all gone, and he sent me
to his lodgings and told me where the money was, and how much to take.
So I went.”
The president was whispering to the member on his left, but, in order to
appear as if he had heard, he repeated her last words.
“So you went. Well, what next?”
“I went, and did all he told me; went into his room. I did not go alone,
but called Simeon Kartinkin and her,” she said, pointing to Botchkova.
“That’s a lie; I never went in,” Botchkova began, but was stopped.
“In their presence I took out four notes,” continued Maslova, frowning,
without looking at Botchkova.
“Yes, but did the prisoner notice,” again asked the prosecutor, “how
much money there was when she was getting out the 40 roubles?”
Maslova shuddered when the prosecutor addressed her; she did not know
why it was, but she felt that he wished her evil.
“I did not count it, but only saw some 100-rouble notes.”
“Ah! The prisoner saw 100-rouble notes. That’s all?”
“Well, so you brought back the money,” continued the president, looking
at the clock.
“I did.”
“Well, and then?”
“Then he took me back with him,” said Maslova.
“Well, and how did you give him the powder? In his drink?”
“How did I give it? I put them in and gave it him.”
“Why did you give it him?”
She did not answer, but sighed deeply and heavily.
“He would not let me go,” she said, after a moment’s silence, “and I was
quite tired out, and so I went out into the passage and said to Simeon,
‘If he would only let me go, I am so tired.’ And he said, ‘We are also
sick of him; we were thinking of giving him a sleeping draught; he will
fall asleep, and then you can go.’ So I said all right. I thought they
were harmless, and he gave me the packet. I went in. He was lying behind
the partition, and at once called for brandy. I took a bottle of ‘fine
champagne’ from the table, poured out two glasses, one for him and one
for myself, and put the powders into his glass, and gave it him. Had I
known how could I have given them to him?”
“Well, and how did the ring come into your possession?” asked the
president. “When did he give it you?”
“That was when we came back to his lodgings. I wanted to go away, and he
gave me a knock on the head and broke my comb. I got angry and said I’d
go away, and he took the ring off his finger and gave it to me so that I
should not go,” she said.
Then the public prosecutor again slightly raised himself, and, putting
on an air of simplicity, asked permission to put a few more questions,
and, having received it, bending his head over his embroidered collar,
he said: “I should like to know how long the prisoner remained in the
merchant Smelkoff’s room.”
Maslova again seemed frightened, and she again looked anxiously from the
public prosecutor to the president, and said hurriedly:
“I do not remember how long.”
“Yes, but does the prisoner remember if she went anywhere else in the
lodging-house after she left Smelkoff?”
Maslova considered for a moment. “Yes, I did go into an empty room next
to his.”
“Yes, and why did you go in?” asked the public prosecutor, forgetting
himself, and addressing her directly.
“I went in to rest a bit, and to wait for an isvostchik.”
“And was Kartinkin in the room with the prisoner, or not?”
“He came in.”
“Why did he come in?”
“There was some of the merchant’s brandy left, and we finished it
together.”
“Oh, finished it together. Very well! And did the prisoner talk to
Kartinkin, and, if so, what about?”
Maslova suddenly frowned, blushed very red, and said, hurriedly, “What
about? I did not talk about anything, and that’s all I know. Do what you
like with me; I am not guilty, and that’s all.”
“I have nothing more to ask,” said the prosecutor, and, drawing up his
shoulders in an unnatural manner, began writing down, as the prisoner’s
own evidence, in the notes for his speech, that she had been in the
empty room with Kartinkin.
There was a short silence.
“You have nothing more to say?”
“I have told everything,” she said, with a sigh, and sat down.
Then the president noted something down, and, having listened to
something that the member on his left whispered to him, he announced
a ten-minutes’ interval, rose hurriedly, and left the court. The
communication he had received from the tall, bearded member with
the kindly eyes was that the member, having felt a slight stomach