Chapter XXVI: When I left the Count I went to the room where Olga was lying

* Here two lines are blotted out.—A. Ch.

A little blue lamp was burning in the room and faintly lighted up her face. . . . It was impossible either to read or write by its light. Olga was lying on her bed, her head bandaged up. One could only see her pale sharp nose and the eyelids that closed her eyes. At the moment I entered the room her bosom was bared and the doctors were placing a bag of ice on it.* Olga was therefore still alive. Two doctors were attending on her. When I entered, Pavel Ivanovich, screwing up his eyes, was auscultating her heart with much panting and puffing.

* I draw the reader's attention to a certain circumstance.
Kamyshev, who loved on every occasion, even in his disputes with
Polycarp, to descant on the condition of his soul, says not a word
of the impression made on him by the sight of the dying Olga. I
think this omission was intentional.—A. Ch.

The district doctor, who looked a worn-out and sickly man, was sitting pensively near the bed in an arm-chair and seemed to be feeling her pulse. Father Jeremiah, who had just finished his work, was wrapping up the cross in his stole and preparing to depart.

“Pëtr Egorych, do not grieve!” he said with a sigh and looked towards the corner of the room. “Everything is God's will. Turn for protection to God.”

Urbenin was seated on a stool in a corner of the room. He was so much changed that I hardly recognized him. Want of work and drink during the last month had told as much on his clothes as on his appearance; his clothes were worn out, his face too.

The poor fellow sat there motionless, supporting his head on his fists and never taking his eyes off the bed. . . . His hands and face were still stained with blood. . . . He had forgotten to wash them. . . .

Oh, the prediction of my soul and of my poor bird!

Whenever the noble bird which I had killed screamed out his phrase about the husband who killed his wife, Urbenin's figure always arose before my mind's eye. Why? . . . I knew that jealous husbands often kill their unfaithful wives; at the same time I knew that such men as Urbenin do not kill people. . . . And I drove away the thought of the possibility of Olga being killed by her husband as something absurd.

“Was it he or not he?” I asked myself as I looked at his unhappy face.

And to speak candidly I did not give myself an affirmative answer, despite the Count's story and the blood I saw on his hands and face.

“If he had killed her he would have washed off that blood long ago,” I said to myself, remembering the following proposition of a magistrate of my acquaintance: “A murderer cannot bear the blood of his victim.”

If I had wished to tax my memory I could have remembered many aphorisms of a similar nature, but I must not anticipate or fill my mind with premature conclusions.

“My respects!” the district doctor said to me. “I am very glad you have come. . . . Please can you tell me who is master here?”

“There is no master. . . . Chaos reigns here,” I answered.

“A very good apophthegm, but it does not assist me,” the district doctor answered with bitterness. “For the last three hours I have been asking, imploring to have a bottle of port or champagne sent here and not a soul has deigned to listen to my prayer! They are all as deaf as posts! They have only just brought the ice I ordered three hours ago. What does it mean? A woman is dying here, and they only seem to laugh! The Count is pleased to sit in his study drinking liqueurs, and they can't bring even a wineglass here! I wanted to send to the chemist in the town, and I was told all the horses are worn out, and there's nobody who can go as they are all drunk. . . . I wanted to send to my hospital for medicines and bandages and they favoured me with a fellow who could hardly stand on his legs. I sent him two hours ago, and what do you think? They tell me he has only just started! Is that not disgusting? They're all drunk, rude, ill-bred! . . . They all seem idiots! By God, it is the first time in my life I've come across such heartless people!”

The doctor's indignation was justifiable. He had not exaggerated, rather the contrary. . . . A whole night would have been too short a time for pouring out one's gall on all the disorders and malpractices that could be found on the Count's estate. The servants were all abominable, having been demoralized by the want of work and supervision. Among them there was not a single man-servant who could not have served as a type of a servant who had lived long and feathered his nest in the Count's service.

I went off to get some wine. Having distributed three or four cuffs, I succeeded in obtaining both champagne and Valerian drops, to the unspeakable delight of the doctors. An hour later* the doctor's assistant came from the hospital bringing with him all that was necessary.

* I must draw the reader's attention to a very important
circumstance. During from two to three hours M. Kamyshev only walks
about from room to room, shares the doctor's indignation about the
servants, boxes their ears to right and left, and so on. Can you
recognize in him an examining magistrate? He evidently was in no
hurry, and was only trying to kill time. Evidently he knew who the
murderer was. Besides, there are the quite unnecessary searches
made in the Scops-Owl's room and the examination of the gipsies,
that appear more like banter than cross-questioning, and could only
have been undertaken to pass the time.—A. Ch.

Pavel Ivanovich succeeded in pouring into Olga's mouth a tablespoon of champagne. She made an effort to swallow and groaned. Then they injected some sort of drops under the skin.

“Olga Nikolaevna!” the district doctor shouted into her ear. “Olga Ni‑ko‑la‑evna!”

“It is difficult to expect her to regain consciousness!” Pavel Ivanovich said with a sigh. “The loss of blood has been great, besides the blow she received on the head with some blunt instrument must have caused concussion of the brain.”

It is not my business to decide if there had been concussion of the brain or not, but Olga opened her eyes and asked for something to drink. . . . The stimulants had had effect.

“Now you can ask her whatever you require . . .” Pavel Ivanovich said, nudging my elbow. “Ask.”

I went up to the bed. Olga's eyes were turned on me.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“Olga Nikolaevna!” I began, “do you know me?”

During several seconds Olga looked at me and then closed her eyes.

“Yes!” she groaned. “Yes!”

“I am Zinov'ev, the examining magistrate. I had the honour of being acquainted with you, and if you remember, I was best man at your wedding. . . .”

“Is it thou?” Olga whispered, stretching out her left arm. “Sit down. . . .”

“She is delirious!” Screw sighed.

“I am Zinov'ev, the magistrate,” I continued. “If you remember, I was at the shooting party. How do you feel?”

“Ask essential questions!” the district doctor whispered to me. “I cannot answer for the consciousness being lasting. . . .”

“I beg you not to teach me!” I said in an offended tone. “I know what I have to say. . . . Olga Nikolaevna,” I continued, turning to her, “I beg you to remember the events of the past day. I will help you. . . . At one o'clock you mounted your horse and rode out with a large party to a shoot. . . . The shoot lasted for about four hours. . . . Then there was a halt on a clearing in the forest. . . . Do you remember?”

“And thou . . . and thou didst . . . kill . . .”

“The woodcock? After I had killed the wounded woodcock you frowned and went away from the rest of the party. . . . You went into the forest. . . .* Now try to collect all your strength and to exert your memory. During your walk in the wood you were assaulted by a person unknown to us. I ask you, as the examining magistrate, who was it?”

* This avoidance of questions of the first importance could only
have had one object, to gain time and to await a loss of
consciousness, when Olga would be unable to name the murderer. It
is a characteristic process and it is astonishing that the doctors
did not set the right value on it.—A. Ch.

Olga opened her eyes and looked at me.

“Tell us the name of that man! There are three other persons in the room besides me. . . .”

Olga shook her head negatively.

“You must name him,” I continued. “He will suffer a severe punishment. The law will make him pay dearly for his brutality! He will be sent to penal servitude.* . . . I am waiting.”

* At the first glance all this appears naîve. It is evident
Kamyshev wanted to make Olga understand what serious consequences
her declaration would have for the murderer. If the murderer was
dear to her, _ergo_—she must remain silent.—A. Ch.

Olga smiled and shook her head negatively. The further examination produced no results. I was not able to obtain another word from Olga, not a single movement. At a quarter to five she passed away.