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I made the preliminary examinations in the mosaic room in which I had loved at one time to loll on the soft divan and pay court to gipsies.

The first person I examined was Urbenin. He was brought to me from Olga’s room, where he continued to sit on a stool in a corner and never removed his eyes from the empty bed… For a moment he stood before me in silence, looking at me with indifference, then probably thinking that I wanted to speak to him in my character of examining magistrate, he said in the tired voice of a man who was broken by grief and anguish:

‘Sergey Petrovich, examine the other witnesses first, please, and me afterwards… I can’t…’

Urbenin considered himself a witness, or thought that he would be considered one.

‘No, I must examine you at once,’ I said. ‘Be seated, please…’

Urbenin sat down opposite me and bent his head. He was weary and ill, he answered reluctantly, and it was only with difficulty I was able to squeeze his deposition out of him.

He deposed that he was Pëtr Egorych Urbenin, nobleman, fifty years of age, belonging to the Orthodox Faith. That he owned an estate in the neighbouring K — district where he was on the electoral roll, and had served for the last three terms as honorary magistrate. Being ruined, he had mortgaged his estate and had considered it necessary to go into service. He had entered the Count’s service as bailiff six years ago. Liking agriculture, he was not ashamed of being in the service of a private individual, and considered that it was only the foolish who were ashamed of work. He received his salary from the Count regularly, and he had nothing to complain of. He had a son and a daughter from his first marriage, etc., etc., etc.

He had married Olga because he was passionately in love with her. He had struggled long and painfully with his feelings, but neither common sense nor the logic of a practical elderly mind - in fact, nothing had effect: he was obliged to succumb to his feelings and he got married. He knew that Olga did not marry him for love, but considering her to be moral in the highest degree, he decided to content himself with her faithfulness and friendship, which he had hoped to merit.

When he came to describe his disenchantment and the wrongs done to his grey hairs, Urbenin asked permission not to speak of ‘the past which God will forgive her’ or at least to defer the conversation about that to a future time.

I can’t… It’s hard… Besides, you yourself saw it.’

‘Very well, let us leave it for another time… Only tell me now, did you beat your wife? It is reported that one day, finding a note from the Count in her possession, you struck her…’

‘That is not true… I only seized her by the arm, she began to cry, and that same evening she went to complain…’

‘Did you know of her connection with the Count?’

‘I have begged that this subject should be deferred… And what is the use of it?’

‘Answer me only this one question, which is of great importance… Was your wife’s connection with the Count known to you?’

‘Certainly…’

‘I shall write that down, and all the rest concerning your wife’s unfaithfulness can be left for the next time… Now we will revert to another question. Will you explain to me how it came that you were in the forest where Olga Nikolaevna was murdered?… You were, you say, in town… How did you come to be in the forest?’

‘Yes, sir, I had been living in town with a cousin ever since I lost my place… I passed my time in looking for a place and in drinking to forget my sorrows… I had been drinking specially hard this last month. For example, I can’t remember what happened last week as I was always drunk… The day before yesterday I got drunk too… In a word I am lost… Irremediably lost!”

‘You were going to tell me how it was that you came to be in the forest yesterday.’

‘Yes, sir… I awoke yesterday morning early, about four o’clock… My head was aching from the previous day’s drink, I had pains in all my limbs as if I had a fever… I lay on my bed and saw through the window the sun rise, and I remembered… many things… A weight was on my heart… Suddenly I wanted to see her… to see her once more, perhaps for the last time. I was seized by wrath and melancholy… I drew from my pocket the hundred-rouble note the Count had sent me. I looked at it, and then trampled it underfoot… I trampled on it till I decided to go and fling this charity into his face. However hungry and ragged I may be, I cannot sell my honour, and every attempt to buy it I consider a personal insult. So you see, sir, I wanted to have a look at Olga and fling the money into the ugly mug of that seducer. And this longing overpowered me to such an extent that I almost went out of my mind. I had no money to drive here; I could not spend his hundred roubles on myself. I started on foot. By good luck a muzhik I know overtook me, and drove me eighteen versts for ten kopecks, otherwise I might still have been trudging along. The muzhik set me down in Tenevo. From there I came here on foot and arrived about four o’clock.’

‘Did anybody see you here at that time?’

‘Yes, sir. The watchman, Nikolai, was sitting at the gate and told me the masters were not at home, they had all gone out shooting. I was almost worn out with fatigue, but the desire to see my wife was stronger than my weariness. I set off on foot without a moment’s rest to the place where they were shooting. I did not go by the road, but started through the forest. I know every tree, and it would be as difficult for me to lose myself in the Count’s forests as it would be in my own house.’

‘But going through the forest and not by the road you might have missed the shooting party.’

‘No, sir, I kept so close to the road all the time that I could not only hear the shots but the conversations too.’

‘So you did not expect to meet your wife in the forest?’

Urbenin looked at me with astonishment, and, after thinking for a short time, he replied:

‘Pardon me, but that is a strange question. One doesn’t expect to meet a wolf, any more than one expects to meet a terrible misfortune. God sends them unexpectedly. For example, this dreadful occurrence… I was walking through the Ol’khovsky wood, not on the lookout for trouble because I have enough trouble as it is, when suddenly I heard a strange shriek. The shriek was so piercing that it seemed almost as if somebody had cut into my ear… I ran towards the cry…’

Urbenin’s mouth was drawn to one side, his chin trembled, his eyes blinked, and he began to sob.

‘I ran towards the cry, and suddenly I saw… Olga lying on the ground. Her hair and forehead were bloody, her face terrible. I began to shout, to call her by her name… She did not move… I kissed her, I raised her up…’

Urbenin choked and covered his face with his hands. After a minute he continued:

‘I did not see the scoundrel… When I was running towards her I heard somebody’s hasty footsteps. He was probably running away.’

‘All this is an interesting story, Pëtr Egorych,’ I said. ‘But you must know that magistrates are little inclined to believe in such rare occurrences as the coincidence of the murder with your accidental walk, etc. It’s not a bad fabrication, but it explains very little.’

‘What do you mean?’ Urbenin asked, opening his eyes wide, i have fabricated nothing, sir…’

Suddenly Urbenin got very red and rose.

‘It appears that you suspect me…’he mumbled. ‘Of course, anybody can suspect, but you, Sergey Petrovich, have known me long… It’s a sin for you to brand me with such a suspicion… You know me.’

‘I know you, certainly… but my private opinion is here of no avail… The law reserves the right of private opinion to the jurymen, the examining magistrate has only to deal with evidence. There is much evidence, Pëtr Egorych.’

Urbenin cast an alarmed look at me and shrugged his shoulders.

‘Whatever the evidence may be,’ he said, ‘you must understand… Now, could I kill?… Could I! And if so, whom? I might be able to kill a quail or a woodcock, but a human being… a woman who was dearer to me than life, my salvation… the very thought of whom illuminates my gloomy nature like the sun… And suddenly you suspect me!’

Urbenin waved his hand resignedly and sat down again.

‘As it is, I long for death, and now in addition you traduce me. If some official I didn’t know had spoken thus, I’d say nothing, but you, Sergey Petrovich! May I leave now, sir?’

‘You may… I shall examine you again tomorrow, and in the meantime, Pëtr Egorych, I must put you under arrest… I hope that before tomorrow’s examination you will have had time to appreciate the importance of all the evidence there is against you, and you will not waste time uselessly, but confess. I am convinced that Olga Nikolaevna was murdered by you… I have nothing more to say to you today… You may go.’

Having said this I bent over my papers… Urbenin looked at me in perplexity, rose, and stretched out his arms in a strange way.

‘Are you joking… or serious?’ he asked.

‘This is no time for joking,’ I said. ‘You may go.’

Urbenin remained standing before me. I looked up at him. He was pale and looked with perplexity at my papers.

‘Why are your hands bloodstained, Pëtr Egorych?’ I asked.

He looked down at his hands on which there still were marks of blood, and he moved his fingers.

‘You ask why there is blood?… Hm… If this is part of the evidence, it is but poor evidence… When I lifted up Olga after the murder I could not help my hands becoming bloody. I was not wearing gloves.’

‘You just told me that when you found your wife all bloody, you called for help… How is it that nobody heard your cries?’

‘I don’t know, I was so stunned by the sight of Olia, that I was unable to cry out… Besides, I know nothing… It is useless for me to try to exculpate myself, and it’s against my principles to do so.’

‘You would hardly have shouted… Having killed your wife, you ran away, and were terribly astonished when you saw people on the clearing.’

‘I never noticed the people. I paid no heed to people.’

With this my examination for that day was concluded. After that Urbenin was confined in one of the outhouses on the Count’s estate and placed under guard.