VIII. Показание свидетелей, дитё

But we shall no longer carry on our account in the same detail in which we have conducted it up to now.

And so we shall pass over how Nikolai Parfenovich impressed upon each witness as he was summoned that he must testify truthfully and in good conscience, and that afterwards he would have to repeat this testimony of his under oath.

And how, finally, each witness was required to sign the record of his testimony, and so on, and so on.

We shall note only one thing: that the chief point, on which all the attention of the interrogators was fixed, was preeminently still that same question of the three thousand — that is, whether it had been three or fifteen hundred the first time, in Dmitri Fyodorovich's first spree here at Mokroe a month ago, and whether it had been three or fifteen hundred yesterday, in Dmitri Fyodorovich's second spree.

Alas, all the testimony, every last word of it, turned out to be against Mitya, and not a single piece of it in his favor, and some of the witnesses even introduced new, almost staggering facts in refutation of his account.

The first to be questioned was Trifon Borisych.

He came before his interrogators without the least fear; on the contrary, with an air of stern and severe indignation against the accused, and by this he undeniably lent himself the look of extraordinary truthfulness and personal dignity.

He spoke little, with restraint, waited for the questions, and answered precisely and deliberately.

Firmly and without hesitation he testified that a month ago no less than three thousand could have been spent, that all the peasants here would confirm it, that they had heard of the three thousand from "Mitri Fyodorych" himself: "To the gypsy girls alone how much money they flung away.

To them alone, I dare say, it came to more than a thousand."

"I didn't give them five hundred, maybe," Mitya remarked gloomily at this, "only I wasn't counting then, I was drunk — a pity…"

Mitya sat this time off to one side, with his back to the curtains, listening gloomily, with a sad and weary look, as though to say: "Eh, testify to whatever you like, it's all the same now!"

"More than a thousand went on them, Mitri Fyodorovich," Trifon Borisovich firmly contradicted him, "you threw it away for nothing, and they picked it up.

That lot, you know, they're thieves and swindlers, horse-stealers they are; we drove them off from here, or else they'd have told themselves, perhaps, how much they profited off you.

I myself saw the sum in your hands then — count it I did not, you didn't let me, that's the truth — but by eye, I remember, it was a good deal more than fifteen hundred… Fifteen hundred, indeed!

We too have seen money in our day; we can judge…"

As for yesterday's sum, Trifon Borisovich testified outright that Dmitri Fyodorovich himself, the moment he had gotten down off his horses, had announced to him that he had brought three thousand.

"Come now, is that so, Trifon Borisych," Mitya tried to object, "did I really declare so positively that I'd brought three thousand?"

"You said it, Mitri Fyodorovich.

You said it in front of Andrei.

There he is, Andrei himself, he hasn't left yet — summon him.

And there in the hall, when you were treating the chorus, you shouted right out that you were leaving your sixth thousand here — with the earlier ones, that is, that's how it's to be understood.

Stepan and Semyon heard it, and Pyotr Fomich Kalganov was standing right beside you then; maybe they remember it too…"

The testimony about the sixth thousand was received by the interrogators with extraordinary effect.

The new version pleased them: three and three makes six, which meant three thousand then and three thousand now — there were all six, it came out plainly.

They questioned all the peasants named by Trifon Borisovich — Stepan and Semyon, Andrei the coachman, and Pyotr Fomich Kalganov.

The peasants and the coachman confirmed Trifon Borisych's testimony without hesitation.

Besides this, they took down with particular care, from Andrei's words, an account of his conversation with Mitya on the road about "where, say, I'm going to end up, Dmitri Fyodorovich — to heaven or to hell, and whether they'll forgive me in the next world or not?"

The "psychologist" Ippolit Kirillovich heard all this out with a subtle smile and ended by recommending that this testimony too, about where Dmitri Fyodorovich would end up, be "entered in the file."

When Kalganov was summoned he came in reluctantly, sullen and peevish, and talked with the prosecutor and Nikolai Parfenovich as though he were seeing them for the first time in his life, when in fact he had long been their daily acquaintance.

He began by saying that he "knew nothing of all this and didn't wish to know."

But it turned out that he too had heard about the sixth thousand, and he admitted that at that moment he had been standing nearby.

In his estimation, the money in Mitya's hands had been "I don't know how much."

As to the Poles having cheated at cards, he testified in the affirmative.

He also explained, in answer to repeated questions, that after the Poles were driven out Mitya's affairs with Agrafena Alexandrovna had indeed taken a turn for the better, and that she herself had said she loved him.

Of Agrafena Alexandrovna he spoke with reserve and respect, as though she were a lady of the very best society, and he did not once permit himself to call her "Grushenka."

Despite the young man's evident reluctance to testify, Ippolit Kirillovich questioned him at length, and only from him learned all the particulars of what made up, so to speak, Mitya's "romance" that night.

Mitya did not once stop Kalganov.

At last the young man was released, and he withdrew with undisguised indignation.

They questioned the Poles as well.

In their little room they had indeed lain down to sleep, but they had not slept a wink all night, and on the arrival of the authorities they had hastily dressed and tidied themselves, understanding of their own accord that they would certainly be sent for.

They presented themselves with dignity, though not without a certain fright.

The chief one, that is the little Pole, turned out to be a retired civil servant of the twelfth class, who had served in Siberia as a veterinarian; his surname was Pan Mussyalovich.

Pan Vrublevsky turned out to be a freelance dentist, in Russian a tooth-doctor.

The moment the two of them entered the room, despite Nikolai Parfenovich's questions they at once began directing their answers to Mikhail Makarovich, who was standing off to one side, taking him, in their ignorance, for the chief official and the presiding authority here, and addressing him with every word as "pane pulkovniku" — "sir colonel."

Only after several attempts and a directive from Mikhail Makarovich himself did they realize that they were to address their answers solely to Nikolai Parfenovich.

It turned out that they could speak Russian very, very correctly indeed, save perhaps for the pronunciation of certain words.

About his relations with Grushenka, past and present, Pan Mussyalovich began to declare himself hotly and proudly, so that Mitya at once flew into a rage and shouted that he would not allow "the scoundrel" to speak so in his presence.

Pan Mussyalovich instantly seized on the word "scoundrel" and asked that it be entered in the record.

Mitya boiled over with fury.

"A scoundrel, yes, a scoundrel!

Enter that, and enter too that, record or no record, I still cry that he's a scoundrel!" he shouted.

Nikolai Parfenovich, though he did enter it in the record, showed on this disagreeable occasion the most praiseworthy efficiency and skill in handling matters: after a stern admonition to Mitya he himself at once broke off all further questioning touching on the romantic side of the affair and hurried on to what was essential.

Now in the essential matter one piece of the Poles' testimony came up that aroused extraordinary curiosity in the investigators: namely, how Mitya, in that little room, had tried to bribe Pan Mussyalovich, offering him three thousand to step aside — seven hundred roubles down, and the remaining two thousand three hundred "tomorrow morning in town" — swearing on his word of honor and declaring that he did not yet have such money with him here at Mokroe, but that the money was in town.

Mitya tried to remark in the heat of the moment that he had not said he would certainly hand it over tomorrow in town, but Pan Vrublevsky confirmed the testimony, and Mitya himself, after a minute's thought, conceded with a frown that it must have been so, just as the Poles said, that he had been excited at the time and so might indeed have said as much.

The prosecutor fairly fastened on this testimony: it became clear to the investigation (as indeed they later deduced) that half, or part, of the three thousand that had come into Mitya's hands might really still be lying hidden somewhere in town, or even, perhaps, somewhere here at Mokroe — and so there came to light that circumstance ticklish for the investigation, that on Mitya they had found only eight hundred roubles in all, a circumstance that until now had been the one, and rather trifling, but still some bit of evidence in Mitya's favor.

Now even this single piece of evidence in his favor was being demolished.

To the prosecutor's question — where, then, would he have gotten the remaining two thousand three hundred to pay the Pole tomorrow, since he himself maintained that he had only fifteen hundred in all, and yet had assured the Pole on his word of honor — Mitya answered firmly that what he had meant to offer "the little Pole" the next day was not money but a formal deed to his rights in the Chermashnya estate, the very rights he had offered to Samsonov and Madame Khokhlakova.