by Otto Penzler
“Prisoner at the bar.”
The prisoner arose. “George Garine, age thirty years, doctor of medicine.”
Orthodox, according to his passport.
“Married, no children.”
Married! What irony!
“Was married,” corrected the attorney severely.
The accused man shrugged his shoulders. “If you prefer; but what difference does it make?” and he sat down.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he arose again, and in a calm but aggressive voice said to the presiding judge:
“But why this comedy? You take it upon yourselves to judge me, who am already a condemned man in my own eyes. What right have you? What has attracted this crowd of embittered interlopers? What do you know about that which you commonly call a crime of passion? Suppose that I denied having killed her, my dear cherished wife whom I daily loved more and more. Suppose that I denied this, what would you know about it? I, a criminal! Empty words, stupid phrases! I, a criminal! Knowing you and your kind, I know full well what your verdict will be. Although I may not agree with you, I am here before you, ready to accept anything as another part of my Calvary.” He sat down.
“Prisoner”…
Doctor Garine continued his story very slowly and deliberately, almost as though speaking to himself.
“Your Honor, do not interrupt me. Your nasal voice makes me nervous … well … she whom I killed … moaned something which remains ever with me … sometimes it sounds like the droning of a bee, sometimes like a tolling bell at twilight! ‘Forever—forever.’ Do you know what she meant?” He was silent for a time. Then—” It is difficult for me to speak to-day. Perhaps another time.”
The Chief of Police, Kotomkine, when called to the stand, declared that on the night of June 23rd he was awakened by the ringing of his telephone. Being very tired, having been on duty all evening at the celebration of a feast which had been organized by the inhabitants of the island, he took up the receiver most unwillingly. He heard the calm voice of a man.
“Good evening, Chief. Dr. Garine speaking. Will you please come to my house. I have just killed my wife.”
Ten minutes later, Kotomkine, followed by his assistants, rang at the door of Dr. Garine’s home. This was at two o’clock in the morning. No one replied. They entered the house and found the body of Mrs. Garine, the victim, lying on the bedroom floor.
She was clothed in a Japanese dressing-gown, which had been torn to shreds, and the terrified expression of the face presented a startling picture. Her face, her shoulders, and her arms bore traces of tooth marks, and were covered with blood. One eye had been put out and her right arm lay broken and deformed. Her throat gave evidence of strangulation, and the terribly bruised larynx showed the unusual strength of the murderer.
It required but an instant to discover that the victim had been ravished while dying or perhaps when already dead. The bruises, the echymoses, were more terrible than anything the witness had ever seen.
“Proceeding into the dressing-room,” continued the policeman, “I found Dr. Garine seated before the mirror. He had just finished shaving. The expression on his face was extraordinary; he looked like a mask carved in stone. He calmly and politely asked me to wait until he had finished dressing, saying, ‘Just a moment, I beg of you, sir. I am ill when I am unshaven. My bag is packed and I am ready to go to prison.’”
The murderer’s testimony was brief.
“Yes, I killed her. I refuse to explain the motive. I remember nothing of the details.”
He allowed himself to be led to prison without assistance. His correct manner was weirdly inhuman.
At the request of the prosecuting attorney, the policeman was asked to give any information he might have concerning the prisoner, whom he had known for about three years. At the completion of his testimony the man expressed his doubts as to the sanity of the prisoner, saying:
“During the journey from his home to the prison, Your Honor, he stopped suddenly and whispered to me confidentially, ‘Do you hear the rolling wheels? It is the rhythm of life. I wanted to get away from it, but, vanquished, I return. The rolling of wheels—’”
Then came the testimony of Dr. Levitsky, Dr. Garine’s young assistant. He was a handsome boy, slightly effeminate, with light hair, and a bit of down on his upper lip.
He was greatly embarrassed, and flushed deeply as he replied to the questions of the judge and of the prosecuting attorney.
“I live at the laboratory, about two kilometers from the Garines’ home. On the evening of the twenty-third we had dined together to celebrate the feast of St. John. Mrs. Garine was very gay and happy. We danced together at the café. And the doctor joined in our merriment. He spoke of his life in South America. I returned home at about eleven o’clock after having accompanied Dr. and Mrs. Garine to their house. I undressed slowly and had great difficulty in getting to sleep.
“At one o’clock—I remember perfectly—I was awakened by an unusual noise in the laboratory. Fearing burglars, I grabbed a revolver and opened the laboratory door. Dr. Garine was standing near the thermostat with his back turned to me and was transplanting cultures. At the sound of my footsteps he turned around and gave his orders even more abruptly than usual. ‘Culture A has been verified. I have finished the staining of culture B, which is very satisfactory. Here is a new case of tuberculous leprosy in which I have been able to make an exact diagnosis. Everything is in order. Be sure to give the exact dosage of injections.’
“His every word is firmly fixed in my mind. Then, looking straight into my eyes with a peculiar expression, he said to me: ‘I entrust to you this little piece of work which is indispensable to humanity.’ He placed his hand on my shoulder, and in an exceedingly clear and firm voice, added, ‘I have just killed Nina. Forgive me, my friend, forgive me.’ He kissed my forehead and abruptly left the laboratory. My strength failed me and I could not follow him. Later, I found myself in an armchair in my room.”
In concluding his testimony, the witness dwelt at length and in great detail upon the doctor’s scientific research work.
He had known him for almost three years and had found him to be an extraordinarily energetic man, with a calm, thoughtful disposition. The scientific world of Europe was unanimous in proclaiming his worth. His recent discoveries were exceedingly important. He had found a new method of diagnosis for the especially virulent type of tuberculous leprosy, and had discovered its contagiousness. He was a man of rare merit and of touching benevolence.
“Pardon me, Doctor,” interrupted the judge, “what do you know of the family life of the prisoner and of his relations with the victim?”
Levitsky flushed suddenly and stuttered timidly in great confusion:
“Excellent relations, of course.”
“Forgive me again, Doctor, but I have been told that you were on very intimate terms with Mrs. Garine.”
“Not at all, not at all, your Honor,” replied the witness, greatly embarrassed. “There was nothing of this kind. I admit that I was filled with respectful affection for Mrs. Garine. That was all, I swear it!”
“Is it true,” asked the prosecuting attorney, “that you visited Mrs. Garine daily, sometimes even twice daily when her husband was away? Is it also true …”
“Levitsky,” interrupted the prisoner, “don’t answer the inane questions of these gentlemen. Tell them to go to the devil!”
“Prisoner,” shouted the judge, “another interruption and you will be conducted to your cell.”
“You would only be harming yourself,” mumbled the prisoner between closed teeth.
Levitsky refused to answer all further questions.
The court room waited with great curiosity for the testimony of the only servant in Dr. Garine’s household. She was an Esthonian of uncertain age.
She spoke most kindly of her unusual master. The doctor had been good to her, had been most generous with her, had given her money at frequent intervals, and had sent her to her peopl
e for vacations. Mrs. Garine, too, had been the kindest of mistresses.
“I have been with them for two years and they have never even spoken an impatient word to me. And they were so attentive to each other. It was really touching to see them. If Mrs. Garine was ill, the Doctor never left her bedside; he was constantly reading to her and heaping attentions upon her. As for the young doctor, he was always with us, it is true. But I think all of his loving gazes were lost upon Mrs. Garine.”
In spite of the sly cleverness of the prosecuting attorney, it was impossible to obtain any details as to the exact character of the relations which had existed between Dr. Levitsky and the victim.
On the day of the tragedy both Mrs. Garine and the doctor had seemed to be very gay and happy. In the evening, the witness had left for Riga. This ended her testimony.
The deliveryman from the grocery declared that he had often met Mrs. Garine and the young doctor walking arm in arm along shady lanes.
The same statement was made by the priest’s wife, who had twice met them in the city. She had been so interested that she had stood looking at them for a long time.
The prisoner’s brother, a well-known architect in Moscow, gave an excited and incoherent history of the accused man’s past life.
“We were the only children. Although I was the oldest, I was always dominated by him during my childhood and youth. He was most authoritative, audacious, and dominating; much like our father, who had been a big merchant at Perm, and who had risen from poverty to millions. My brother was his favorite and was literally adored by my father. They always went to the forest and mountains together to hunt, while I remained at home with my mother. My brother was very studious and always excelled in his studies. Being vain and proud, he was very reserved and avoided all quarrels. He was very much unlike our father in this respect, and had inherited this trait from our mother, whose maiden name was Karpoffs. Her family were chemists of Perm.
“Even in his early childhood my brother sought for the manifestations of the Creator, but he did this calmly and sanely. He attended social functions regularly in the afternoon, but preferred to remain in his room in the evening. Then, gradually, without a struggle, he lost his faith.”
“No, Peter, you are mistaken when you say I lost my faith without a struggle.”
“Yes, yes, I remember, George, I remember. What a time for you!—It is true, he did not eat, and I often heard him moan: ‘I no longer believe in Thee, O God, but I know Thee.’ No exterior change was noticeable in him, however. He passed his medical examinations brilliantly. He seemed especially fitted for scientific work. Politics did not interest him. His natural reserve did not allow him to make intimate friends, but he was highly esteemed by his classmates as well as by his professors. Naturally very obliging, he willingly performed little services for every one.
“He suffered cruelly through the death of our father, who died while he was still a student. He remained in his room for a week without taking any food, and refused to see or to speak to any one. This astonished us a great deal.
“When the will was opened and read, my father had left half of a fortune of several millions to my brother. But he obstinately refused to take his share of the inheritance. ‘You and mother keep it, or build schools with it.’ He accepted only a very small part of the fortune, and left for Petersburg.
“He passed his medical examinations not only brilliantly, but with exceptional distinction. People began to speak of him as a future scientist. He specialized in infectious diseases. He spent several years with Metchnikoff in Paris, then returned to Petersburg, where he was besieged by the ill and suffering.
“We scarcely ever heard from him; about three times a year. They were short, strange notes, in which he often spoke of our dead father, such as:‘Yesterday, while I was alone in my room, I thought of our father. Do you remember his well-known dear smile?’
“One day we heard that he had forsaken his work and his patients to fight an epidemic of eruptive typhus. Then he enlisted in the Russo-Japanese war, where he fought another epidemic.
“It was here that he distinguished himself, was wounded, and fell a victim to typhus. He recovered from this and came home for a period of rest.
“He had become more taciturn than ever, but also more thoughtful towards my wife and our old mother.
“He enjoyed talking to our priest, a learned man who led a very Christian life.
“At this time there began to be rumors of a revolution in Russia, but my brother refused to have anything to do with it: not because he was hostile to the cause, or a reactionary, but because he was indifferent to politics.
“Sometimes he liked to speak of human vanity, and tried to convince our priest that the lives of the saints were not free from it.
“People clamored for him at Petersburg, where he had been offered an important position. But my brother announced his intention of going to South America, much to our surprise and sorrow. ‘What funny people you are,’ said he to my mother with a smile which I still remember well. ‘Must we not, each one of us, live our own lives, and find out where its harmony lies for us? Well, then, I must get away from the humdrum of daily existence. I must get away from hereditary influences.’
“These were literally his words. ‘I must get away from hereditary influences.’
“From America we received one letter; but such a curious one. ‘For hundreds of miles around me, it would be impossible to find one soul caught in the snares of daily routine. Here is another world, a people whose language is simple and primitive, who live only in the present hour. I have found peace of mind. This peace of mind and of soul I owe to my friends here. I am living life. I have attained the height of my desires. I have forgotten the meanness of trivialities.’
“We understood nothing in this letter.
“Suddenly, after spending six years in the forests of Brazil he returned to us unexpectedly. This was six years ago.
“He entertained us with tales of his life in South America, speaking enthusiastically in a language all his own. He told us of the morals and the customs of these primitive people among whom he had lived. But he never breathed a word about himself.
“Several weeks after his return, he accepted the position of chief physician to the leper colony.
“My mother and I were horrified. From this time on we heard no more from him.
“Through his associates, we heard of his marriage, of his devotion to his wife, and of a series of important discoveries which had made him famous in the scientific world.
“Then, suddenly, I learned of this tragedy through the newspapers. I hastened here immediately.
“My brother refused to see me.
“This is all I have to say.”
The testimony of Peter Garine, which presented the murderer as a good, noble man, threw the court room into confusion, almost into anger.
Peter Garine’s unquestionable sincerity left no room for doubt.
The prisoner himself listened indifferently to his brother’s testimony, with half-closed eyes, but with clenched hands.
—“Pardon me, sir,” said the foreman of the jury, “can you recall in the prisoner’s past life any sudden burst of anger, any loss of self-control, or any acts of unusual cruelty?”
“Two occasions, gentlemen, remain firmly fixed in my mind. I have twice seen my brother, whose behavior was usually so faultlessly correct, beside himself with anger.
“The first time we were passing a tavern. I remember it was on a Saturday, when our attention was attracted by the yelping of a very young, half-blind dog, which had lost its mother. Two intoxicated young men came out of the tavern. They were in a very hilarious mood. One of them, seeing the poor beast, crushed its head with a savage kick, and uttering a frightful oath said:
“‘That for you, you dirty little beast! Get out of my way!’
“My brother became livid when he saw this. His face assumed a terrible expression which I had never seen before; he threw himself upo
n the brute, sent him to earth with a terrific blow, and began to wring his neck in frenzied rage. He was fourteen years old at this time.
“The second time we were at Moscow.
“A policeman from the vice squad was beating a woman of the streets, who was greatly intoxicated. Covered with blood, unable to walk, she was trying to escape. Another terrible blow in the back sent the poor, muttering creature to the pavement.
“My brother, then a physician, seemed petrified. Suddenly he hurled himself upon the policeman, and after having knocked him down, began to stamp on him and kick him, uttering savage cries as he did so. We hushed up the affair with difficulty, and when I reproached him for his summary procedure in administering justice, he replied with an enigmatic smile: ‘It is the rebellion of the soul.’”
Then followed passages from the murdered woman’s diary. These only confirmed the great, deep harmony which had existed between husband and wife. There was no word, no hint of any misunderstanding between them, not even in the last lines, which had been written on the day of her death.
Mrs. Garine, who had been married once before, had met Dr. Garine about two years previous to our story, under circumstances which had made a deep impression upon the young woman. She had been the spoiled, pleasure-loving wife of a captain of the Guards, and had been very prominent socially.
June 6th, 1910.
Last night I had an experience from which I have not yet recovered. Coming home rather late from a visit at the V—— home, I was walking along a narrow street when I heard steps behind me. I hastened my steps; my pursuers did the same. I could hear them whisper. I had almost reached the boulevards when two men attacked me from behind. I must have cried out in terror. The next thing I remember, my two aggressors were lying on the ground with battered faces, and my unexpected protector was putting on his silk hat and his overcoat.
I cannot forget how very calm he seemed. He bowed very formally to me and was about to go on his way. I begged him: “For Heaven’s sake, take me to my door; it isn’t very far.”