The Examining Magistrate

"The Examining Magistrate" is a short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores themes of bureaucracy, human nature, and moral ambiguity. The narrative follows an examining magistrate who arrives in a provincial town to investigate a case involving a local peasant. As he interacts with the town's officials and citizens, Chekhov illuminates the absurdities and contradictions of the judicial system, revealing the often-comical and tragic underpinnings of authority and justice. Through sharp observations and a blend of humor and pathos, the story critiques the inefficiencies of bureaucracy and the complexities of human behavior.

								
A DISTRICT doctor and an examining magistrate were driving one fine
spring day to an inquest. The examining magistrate, a man of five and
thirty, looked dreamily at the horses and said:

"There is a great deal that is enigmatic and obscure in nature; and even
in everyday life, doctor, one must often come upon phenomena which are
absolutely incapable of explanation. I know, for instance, of several
strange, mysterious deaths, the cause of which only spiritualists and
mystics will undertake to explain; a clear-headed man can only lift up
his hands in perplexity. For example, I know of a highly cultured lady
who foretold her own death and died without any apparent reason on the
very day she had predicted. She said that she would die on a certain
day, and she did die."

"There's no effect without a cause," said the doctor. "If there's a
death there must be a cause for it. But as for predicting it there's
nothing very marvellous in that. All our ladies--all our females, in
fact--have a turn for prophecies and presentiments."

"Just so, but my lady, doctor, was quite a special case. There was
nothing like the ladies' or other females' presentiments about her
prediction and her death. She was a young woman, healthy and clever,
with no superstitions of any sort. She had such clear, intelligent,
honest eyes; an open, sensible face with a faint, typically Russian look
of mockery in her eyes and on her lips. There was nothing of the fine
lady or of the female about her, except--if you like-- her beauty! She was
graceful, elegant as that birch tree; she had wonderful hair. That she
may be intelligible to you, I will add, too, that she was a person of
the most infectious gaiety and carelessness and that intelligent, good
sort of frivolity which is only found in good-natured, light-hearted
people with brains. Can one talk of mysticism, spiritualism, a turn for
presentiment, or anything of that sort, in this case? She used to laugh
at all that."

The doctor's chaise stopped by a well. The examining magistrate and the
doctor drank some water, stretched, and waited for the coachman to
finish watering the horses.

"Well, what did the lady die of?" asked the doctor when the chaise was
rolling along the road again.

"She died in a strange way. One fine day her husband went in to her and
said that it wouldn't be amiss to sell their old coach before the spring
and to buy something rather newer and lighter instead, and that it might
be as well to change the left trace horse and to put Bobtchinsky (that
was the name of one of her husband's horses) in the shafts.

"His wife listened to him and said:

"'Do as you think best, but it makes no difference to me now. Before the
summer I shall be in the cemetery.'

"Her husband, of course, shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"'I am not joking,' she said. 'I tell you in earnest that I shall soon
be dead.'

"'What do you mean by soon?'

"'Directly after my confinement. I shall bear my child and die.'

"The husband attached no significance to these words. He did not believe
in presentiments of any sort, and he knew that ladies in an interesting
condition are apt to be fanciful and to give way to gloomy ideas
generally. A day later his wife spoke to him again of dying immediately
after her confinement, and then every day she spoke of it and he laughed
and called her a silly woman, a fortune-teller, a crazy creature. Her
approaching death became an idée fixé with his wife. When her husband
would not listen to her she would go into the kitchen and talk of her
death to the nurse and the cook.

"'I haven't long to live now, nurse,' she would say. 'As soon as my
confinement is over I shall die. I did not want to die so early, but it
seems it's my fate.'

"The nurse and the cook were in tears, of course. Sometimes the priest's
wife or some lady from a neighbouring estate would come and see her and
she would take them aside and open her soul to them, always harping on
the same subject, her approaching death. She spoke gravely with an
unpleasant smile, even with an angry face which would not allow any
contradiction. She had been smart and fashionable in her dress, but now
in view of her approaching death she became slovenly; she did not read,
she did not laugh, she did not dream aloud. What was more she drove with
her aunt to the cemetery and selected a spot for her tomb. Five days
before her confinement she made her will. And all this, bear in mind,
was done in the best of health, without the faintest hint of illness or
danger. A confinement is a difficult affair and sometimes fatal, but in
the case of which I am telling you every indication was favourable, and
there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Her husband was sick of
the whole business at last. He lost his temper one day at dinner and
asked her:

"'Listen, Natasha, when is there going to be an end of this silliness?'

"'It's not silliness, I am in earnest.'

"'Nonsense, I advise you to give over being silly that you may not feel
ashamed of it afterwards.'

"Well, the confinement came. The husband got the very best midwife from
the town. It was his wife's first confinement, but it could not have
gone better. When it was all over she asked to look at her baby. She
looked at it and said:

"'Well, now I can die.'

"She said good-bye, shut her eyes, and half an hour later gave up her
soul to God. She was fully conscious up to the last moment. Anyway when
they gave her milk instead of water she whispered softly:

"'Why are you giving me milk instead of water?'

"So that is what happened. She died as she predicted."

The examining magistrate paused, gave a sigh and said:

"Come, explain why she died. I assure you on my honour, this is not
invented, it's a fact."

The doctor looked at the sky meditatively.

"You ought to have had an inquest on her," he said.

"Why?"

"Why, to find out the cause of her death. She didn't die because she had
predicted it. She poisoned herself most probably."

The examining magistrate turned quickly, facing the doctor, and screwing
up his eyes, asked:

"And from what do you conclude that she poisoned herself?"

"I don't conclude it, but I assume it. Was she on good terms with her
husband?"

"H'm, not altogether. There had been misunderstandings soon after their
marriage. There were unfortunate circumstances. She had found her
husband on one occasion with a lady. She soon forgave him however."

"And which came first, her husband's infidelity or her idea of dying?"

The examining magistrate looked attentively at the doctor as though he
were trying to imagine why he put that question.

"Excuse me," he said, not quite immediately. "Let me try and remember."
The examining magistrate took off his hat and rubbed his forehead. "Yes,
yes . . . it was very shortly after that incident that she began talking

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes