OUR police captain, Mihail Makarovitch Makarov, a retired1 lieutenant-colonel, was a widower2 and an excellent man. He had only come to us three years previously3, but had won general esteem4, chiefly because he “knew how to keep society together.” He was never without visitors, and could not have got on without them. Someone or other was always dining with him; he never sat down to table without guests. He gave regular dinners, too, on all sorts of occasions, sometimes most surprising ones. Though the fare was not recherche5, it was abundant. The fish-pies were excellent, and the wine made up in quantity for what it lacked in quality.
The first room his guests entered was a well fitted billiard-room, with pictures of English race horses, in black frames on the walls, an essential decoration, as we all know, for a bachelor’s billiard-room. There was card playing every evening at his house, if only at one table. But at frequent intervals6, all the society of our town, with the mammas and young ladies, assembled at his house to dance. Mihail Makarovitch was a widower, he did not live alone. His widowed daughter lived with him, with her two unmarried daughters, grown-up girls, who had finished their education. They were of agreeable appearance and lively character, and though everyone knew they would have no dowry, they attracted all the young men of fashion to their grandfather’s house.
Mihail Makarovitch was by no means very efficient in his work, though he performed his duties no worse than many others. To speak plainly, he was a man of rather narrow education. His understanding of the limits of his administrative8 power could not always be relied upon. It was not so much that he failed to grasp certain reforms enacted9 during the present reign10, as that he made conspicuous11 blunders in his interpretation12 of them. This was not from any special lack of intelligence, but from carelessness, for he was always in to great a hurry to go into the subject.
“I have the heart of a soldier rather than of a civilian,” he used to say of himself. He had not even formed a definite idea of the fundamental principles of the reforms connected with the emancipation13 of the serfs, and only picked it up, so to speak, from year to year, involuntarily increasing his knowledge by practice. And yet he was himself a landowner. Pyotr Ilyitch knew for certain that he would meet some of Mihail Makarovitch’s visitors there that evening, but he didn’t know which. As it happened, at that moment the prosecutor14, and Varvinsky, our district doctor, a young man, who had only just come to us from Petersburg after taking a brilliant degree at the Academy of Medicine, were playing whist at the police captain’s. Ippolit Kirillovitch, the prosecutor (he was really the deputy prosecutor, but we always called him the prosecutor), was rather a peculiar15 man, of about five and thirty, inclined to be consumptive, and married to a fat and childless woman. He was vain and irritable16, though he had a good intellect, and even a kind heart. It seemed that all that was wrong with him was that he had a better opinion of himself than his ability warranted. And that made him seem constantly uneasy. He had, moreover, certain higher, even artistic17, leanings, towards psychology18, for instance, a special study of the human heart, a special knowledge of the criminal and his crime. He cherished a grievance19 on this ground, considering that he had been passed over in the service, and being firmly persuaded that in higher spheres he had not been properly appreciated, and had enemies. In gloomy moments he even threatened to give up his post, and practise as a barrister in criminal cases. The unexpected Karamazov case agitated20 him profoundly: “It was a case that might well be talked about all over Russia.” But I am anticipating.
Nikolay Parfenovitch Nelyudov, the young investigating lawyer, who had only come from Petersburg two months before, was sitting in the next room with the young ladies. People talked about it afterwards and wondered that all the gentlemen should, as though intentionally21, on the evening of “the crime” have been gathered together at the house of the executive authority. Yet it was perfectly22 simple and happened quite naturally.
Ippolit Kirillovitch’s wife had had toothache for the last two days, and he was obliged to go out to escape from her groans23. The doctor, from the very nature of his being, could not spend an evening except at cards. Nikolay Parfenovitch Nelyudov had been intending for three days past to drop in that evening at Mihail Makarovitch’s, so to speak casually24, so as slyly to startle the eldest25 granddaughter, Olga Mihailovna, by showing that he knew her secret, that he knew it was her birthday, and that she was trying to conceal26 it on purpose, so as not to be obliged to give a dance. He anticipated a great deal of merriment, many playful jests about her age, and her being afraid to reveal it, about his knowing her secret and telling everybody, and so on. The charming young man was a great adept27 at such teasing; the ladies had christened him “the naughty man,” and he seemed to be delighted at the name. He was extremely well-bred, however, of good family, education and feelings, and, though leading a life of pleasure, his sallies were always innocent and in good taste. He was short, and delicate-looking. On his white, slender, little fingers he always wore a number of big, glittering rings. When he was engaged in his official duties, he always became extraordinarily28 grave, as though realising his position and the sanctity of the obligations laid upon him. He had a special gift for mystifying murderers and other criminals of the peasant class during interrogation, and if he did not win their respect, he certainly succeeded in arousing their wonder.
Pyotr Ilyitch was simply dumbfounded when he went into the police captain’s. He saw instantly that everyone knew. They had positively29 thrown down their cards, all were standing7 up and talking. Even Nikolay Parfenovitch had left the young ladies and run in, looking strenuous30 and ready for action. Pyotr Ilyitch was met with the astounding31 news that old Fyodor Pavlovitch really had been murdered that evening in his own house, murdered and robbed. The news had only just reached them in the following manner:
Marfa Ignatyevna, the wife of old Grigory, who had been knocked senseless near the fence, was sleeping soundly in her bed and might well have slept till morning after the draught32 she had taken. But, all of a sudden she waked up, no doubt roused by a fearful epileptic scream from Smerdyakov, who was lying in the next room unconscious. That scream always preceded his fits, and always terrified and upset Marfa Ignatyevna. She could never get accustomed to it. She jumped up and ran half-awake to Smerdyakov’s room. But it was dark there, and she could only hear the invalid33 beginning to gasp34 and struggle. Then Marfa Ignatyevna herself screamed out and was going to call her husband, but suddenly realised that when she had got up, he was not beside her in bed. She ran back to the bedstead and began groping with her hands, but the bed was really empty. Then he must have gone out where? She ran to the steps and timidly called him. She got no answer, of course, but she caught the sound of groans far away in the garden in the darkness. She listened. The groans were repeated, and it was evident they came from the garden.
“Good Lord! just as it was with Lizaveta Smerdyashtchaya!” she thought distractedly. She went timidly down the steps and saw that the gate into the garden was open.
“He must be out there, poor dear,” she thought. She went up to the gate and all at once she distinctly heard Grigory calling her by name, Marfa! Marfa!” in a weak, moaning, dreadful voice.
“Lord, preserve us from harm!” Marfa Ignatyevna murmured, and ran towards the voice, and that was how she found Grigory. But she found him not by the fence where he had been knocked down, but about twenty paces off. It appeared later, that he had crawled away on coming to himself, and probably had been a long time getting so far, losing consciousness several times. She noticed at once that he was covered with blood, and screamed at the top of her voice. Grigory was muttering incoherently:
“He has murdered . . . his father murdered. . . . Why scream, silly . . . run . . . fetch someone . . . ”
But Marfa continued screaming, and seeing that her master’s window was open and that there was a candle alight in the window, she ran there and began calling Fyodor Pavlovitch. But peeping in at the window, she saw a fearful sight. Her master was lying on his back, motionless, on the floor. His light-coloured dressing-gown and white shirt were soaked with blood. The candle on the table brightly lighted up the blood and the motionless dead face of Fyodor Pavlovitch.
Terror-stricken, Marfa rushed away from the window, ran out of the garden, drew the bolt of the big gate and ran headlong by the back way to the neighbour, Marya Konndratyevna. Both mother and daughter were asleep, but they waked up at Marfa’s desperate and persistent35 screaming and knocking at the shutter36. Marfa, shrieking37 and screaming incoherently, managed to tell them the main fact, and to beg for assistance. It happened that Foma had come back from his wanderings and was staying the night with them. They got him up immediately and all three ran to the scene of the crime. On the way, Marya Kondratyevna remembered that at about eight o’clock she heard a dreadful scream from their garden, and this was no doubt Grigory’s scream, “Parricide!” uttered when he caught hold of Mitya’s leg.
“Some one person screamed out and then was silent,” Marya Kondratyevna explained as she ran. Running to the place where Grigory lay, the two women with the help of Foma carried him to the lodge38. They lighted a candle and saw that Smerdyakov was no better, that he was writhing39 in convulsions, his eyes fixed40 in a squint41, and that foam42 was flowing from his lips. They moistened Grigory’s forehead with water mixed with vinager, and the water revived him at once. He asked immediately:
“Is the master murdered?”
Then Foma and both the women ran to the house and saw this time that not only the window, but also the door into the garden was wide open, though Fyodor Pavlovitch had for the last week locked himself in every night and did not allow even Grigory to come in on any pretext43. Seeing that door open, they were afraid to go in to Fyodor Pavlovitch “for fear anything should happen afterwards.” And when they returned to Grigory, the old man told them to go straight to the police captain. Marya Kondratyevna ran there and gave the alarm to the whole party at the police captain’s. She arrived only five minutes before Pyotr Ilyitch, so that his story came, not as his own surmise44 and theory, but as the direct conformation by a witness, of the theory held by all, as to the identity of the criminal (a theory he had in the bottom of his heart refused to believe till that moment).
It was resolved to act with energy. The deputy police inspector45 of the town was commissioned to take four witnesses, to enter Fyodor Pavlovitch’s house and there to open an inquiry46 on the spot, according to the regular forms, which I will not go into here. The district doctor, a zealous47 man, new to his work, almost insisted on accompanying the police captain, the prosecutor, and the investigating lawyer.
I will note briefly48 that Fyodor Pavlovitch was found to be quite dead, with his skull49 battered50 in. But with what? Most likely with the same weapon with which Grigory had been attacked. And immediately that weapon was found, Grigory, to whom all possible medical assistance was at once given, described in a weak and breaking voice how he had been knocked down. They began looking with a lantern by the fence and found the brass51 pestle52 dropped in a most conspicuous place on the garden path. There were no signs of disturbance53 in the room where Fyodor Pavlovitch was lying. But by the bed, behind the screen, they picked up from the floor a big and thick envelope with the inscription54: “A present of three thousand roubles for my angel Grushenka, if she is willing to come.” And below had been added by Fyodor Pavlovitch, “For my little chicken.” There were three seals of red sealing-wax on the envelope, but it had been torn open and was empty: the money had been removed. They found also on the floor a piece of narrow pink ribbon, with which the envelope had been tied up.
One piece of Pyotr Ilyitch’s evidence made a great impression on the prosecutor and the investigating magistrate55, namely, his idea that Dmitri Fyodorovitch would shoot himself before daybreak, that he had resolved to do so, had spoken of it to Ilyitch, had taken the pistols, loaded them before him, written a letter, put it in his pocket, etc. When Pyotr Ilyitch, though still unwilling56 to believe in it, threatened to tell someone so as to prevent the suicide, Mitya had answered grinning: “You’ll be too late.” So they must make haste to Mokroe to find the criminal, before he really did shoot himself.
“That’s clear, that’s clear!” repeated the prosecutor in great excitement. “That’s just the way with mad fellows like that: ‘I shall kill myself to-morrow, so I’ll make merry till I die!’”
The story of how he had bought the wine and provisions excited the prosecutor more than ever.
“Do you remember the fellow that murdered a merchant called Olsufyev, gentlemen? He stole fifteen hundred, went at once to have his hair curled, and then, without even hiding the money, carrying it almost in his hand in the same way, he went off to the girls.”
All were delayed, however, by the inquiry, the search, and the formalities, etc., in the house of Fyodor Pavlovitch. It all took time and so, two hours before starting, they sent on ahead to Mokroe the officer of the rural police, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch Schmertsov, who had arrived in the town the morning before to get his pay. He was instructed to avoid raising the alarm when he reached Mokroe, but to keep constant watch over the “criminal” till the arrival of the proper authorities, to procure57 also witnesses for the arrest, police constables58, and so on. Mavriky Mavrikyevitch did as he was told, preserving his incognito59, and giving no one but his old acquaintance, Trifon Borissovitch, the slightest hint of his secret business. He had spoken to him just before Mitya met the landlord in the balcony, looking for him in the dark, and noticed at once a change in Trifon Borissovitch’s face and voice. So neither Mitya nor anyone else knew that he was being watched. The box with the pistols had been carried off by Trifon Borissovitch and put in a suitable place. Only after four o’clock, almost at sunrise, all the officials, the police captain, the prosecutor, the investigating lawyer, drove up in two carriages, each drawn60 by three horses. The doctor remained at Fyodor Pavlovitch’s to make a post-mortem next day on the body. But he was particularly interested in the condition of the servant, Smerdyakov.
“Such violent and protracted61 epileptic fits, recurring62 continually for twenty-four hours, are rarely to be met with, and are of interest to science,” he declared enthusiastically to his companions, and as they left they laughingly congratulated him on his find. The prosecutor and the investigating lawyer distinctly remembered the doctor’s saying that Smerdyakov could not outlive the night.
After these long, but I think necessary explanations, we will return to that moment of our tale at which we broke off.
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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recherche
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| adj.精选的；罕有的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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pestle
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| n.杵 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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constables
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| n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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incognito
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| adv.匿名地；n.隐姓埋名；adj.化装的，用假名的，隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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