Resurrection - Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (interesting novels in english .TXT) 📗
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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“I cannot do it,” said Breve; and, waving his arm, he ran into
his private room.
He was putting off the case of the Skoptzy on account of the
absence of a very unimportant witness, his real reason being that
if they were tried by an educated jury they might possibly be
acquitted.
By an agreement with the president this case was to be tried in
the coming session at a provincial town, where there would be
more peasants, and, therefore, more chances of conviction.
The movement in the corridor increased. The people crowded most
at the doors of the Civil Court, in which the case that the
dignified man talked about was being heard.
An interval in the proceeding occurred, and the old woman came
out of the court, whose property that genius of an advocate had
found means of getting for his client, a person versed in law who
had no right to it whatever. The judges knew all about the case,
and the advocate and his client knew it better still, but the
move they had invented was such that it was impossible not to
take the old woman’s property and not to hand it over to the
person versed in law.
The old woman was stout, well dressed, and had enormous flowers
on her bonnet; she stopped as she came out of the door, and
spreading out her short fat arms and turning to her advocate, she
kept repeating. “What does it all mean? just fancy!”
The advocate was looking at the flowers in her bonnet, and
evidently not listening to her, but considering some question or
other.
Next to the old woman, out of the door of the Civil Court, his
broad, starched shirt front glistening from under his low-cut
waistcoat, with a self-satisfied look on his face, came the
celebrated advocate who had managed to arrange matters so that
the old woman lost all she had, and the person versed in the law
received more than 100,000 roubles. The advocate passed close to
the old woman, and, feeling all eyes directed towards him, his
whole bearing seemed to say: “No expressions of deference are
required.”
CHAPTER VII.
THE OFFICIALS OF THE COURT.
At last Matthew Nikitich also arrived, and the usher, a thin man,
with a long neck and a kind of sideways walk, his nether lip
protruding to one side, which made him resemble a turkey, came
into the jurymen’s room.
This usher was an honest man, and had a university education, but
could not keep a place for any length of time, as he was subject
to fits of drunkenness. Three months before a certain countess,
who patronised his wife, had found him this place, and he was
very pleased to have kept it so long.
“Well, sirs, is everybody here?” he asked, putting his pince-nez
on his nose, and looking round.
“Everybody, I think,” said the jolly merchant.
“All right; we’ll soon see.” And, taking a list from his pocket,
he began calling out the names, looking at the men, sometimes
through and sometimes over his pince-nez.
“Councillor of State, [grades such as this are common in Russia,
and mean very little] J. M. Nikiforoff!”
“I am he,” said the dignified-looking man, well versed in the
habits of the law court.
“Ivan Semionovitch Ivanoff, retired colonel!”
“Here!” replied a thin man, in the uniform of a retired officer.
“Merchant of the Second Guild, Peter Baklasheff!”
“Here we are, ready!” said the good-humoured merchant, with a
broad smile.
“Lieutenant of the Guards, Prince Dmitri Nekhludoff!”
“I am he,” answered Nekhludoff.
The usher bowed to him, looking over his pince-nez, politely and
pleasantly, as if wishing to distinguish him from the others.
“Captain Youri Demitrievitch-Dantchenko, merchant; Grigori
Euphimitch Kouleshoff,” etc. All but two were present.
“Now please to come to the court, gentlemen,” said the usher,
pointing to the door, with an amiable wave of his hand.
All moved towards the door, pausing to let each other pass. Then
they went through the corridor into the court.
The court was a large, long room. At one end there was a raised
platform, with three steps leading up to it, on which stood a
table, covered with a green cloth trimmed with a fringe of a
darker shade. At the table were placed three armchairs, with
high-carved oak backs; on the wall behind them hung a
full-length, brightly-coloured portrait of the Emperor in uniform
and ribbon, with one foot in advance, and holding a sword. In the
right corner hung a case, with an image of Christ crowned with
thorns, and beneath it stood a lectern, and on the same side the
prosecuting attorney’s desk. On the left, opposite the desk, was
the secretary’s table, and in front of it, nearer the public, an
oak grating, with the prisoners’ bench, as yet unoccupied, behind
it. Besides all this, there were on the right side of the
platform highbacked ashwood chairs for the jury, and on the
floor below tables for the advocates. All this was in the front
part of the court, divided from the back by a grating.
The back was all taken up by seats in tiers. Sitting on the front
seats were four women, either servant or factory girls, and two
working men, evidently overawed by the grandeur of the room, and
not venturing to speak above a whisper.
Soon after the jury had come in the usher entered, with his
sideward gait, and stepping to the front, called out in a loud
voice, as if he meant to frighten those present, “The Court is
coming!” Every one got up as the members stepped on to the
platform. Among them the president, with his muscles and fine
whiskers. Next came the gloomy member of the Court, who was now
more gloomy than ever, having met his brother-in-law, who
informed him that he had just called in to see his sister (the
member’s wife), and that she had told him that there would be no
dinner there.
“So that, evidently, we shall have to call in at a cook shop,”
the brother-in-law added, laughing.
“It is not at all funny,” said the gloomy member, and became
gloomier still.
Then at last came the third member of the Court, the same Matthew
Nikitich, who was always late. He was a bearded man, with large,
round, kindly eyes. He was suffering from a catarrh of the
stomach, and, according to his doctor’s advice, he had begun
trying a new treatment, and this had kept him at home longer than
usual. Now, as he was ascending the platform, he had a pensive
air. He was in the habit of making guesses in answer to all sorts
of self-put questions by different curious means. Just now he had
asked whether the new treatment would be beneficial, and had
decided that it would cure his catarrh if the number of steps
from the door to his chair would divide by three. He made 26
steps, but managed to get in a 27th just by his chair.
The figures of the president and the members in their uniforms,
with gold-embroidered collars, looked very imposing. They seemed
to feel this themselves, and, as if overpowered by their own
grandeur, hurriedly sat down on the high backed chairs behind the
table with the green cloth, on which were a triangular article
with an eagle at the top, two glass vases—something like those
in which sweetmeats are kept in refreshment rooms—an inkstand,
pens, clean paper, and good, newly-cut pencils of different
kinds.
The public prosecutor came in with the judges. With his portfolio
under one arm, and swinging the other, he hurriedly walked to his
seat near the window, and was instantly absorbed in reading and
looking through the papers, not wasting a single moment, in hope
of being ready when the business commenced. He had been public
prosecutor but a short time, and had only prosecuted four times
before this. He was very ambitious, and had firmly made up his
mind to get on, and therefore thought it necessary to get a
conviction whenever he prosecuted. He knew the chief facts of the
poisoning case, and had already formed a plan of action. He only
wanted to copy out a few points which he required.
The secretary sat on the opposite side of the platform, and,
having got ready all the papers he might want, was looking
through an article, prohibited by the censor, which he had
procured and read the day before. He was anxious to have a talk
about this article with the bearded member, who shared his views,
but wanted to look through it once more before doing so.
CHAPTER VIII.
SWEARING IN THE JURY.
The president, having looked through some papers and put a few
questions to the usher and the secretary, gave the order for the
prisoners to be brought in.
The door behind the grating was instantly opened, and two
gendarmes, with caps on their heads, and holding naked swords in
their hands, came in, followed by the prisoners, a redhaired,
freckled man, and two women. The man wore a prison cloak, which
was too long and too wide for him. He stuck out his thumbs, and
held his arms close to his sides, thus keeping the sleeves, which
were also too long, from slipping over his hands. Without looking
at the judges he gazed steadfastly at the form, and passing to
the other side of it, he sat down carefully at the very edge,
leaving plenty of room for the others. He fixed his eyes on the
president, and began moving the muscles of his cheeks, as if
whispering something. The woman who came next was also dressed in
a prison cloak, and had a prison kerchief round her head. She had
a sallow complexion, no eyebrows or lashes, and very red eyes.
This woman appeared perfectly calm. Having caught her cloak
against something, she detached it carefully, without any haste,
and sat down.
The third prisoner was Maslova.
As soon as she appeared, the eyes of all the men in the court
turned her way, and remained fixed on her white face, her
sparklingly-brilliant black eyes and the swelling bosom under the
prison cloak. Even the gendarme whom she passed on her way to her
seat looked at her fixedly till she sat down, and then, as if
feeling guilty, hurriedly turned away, shook himself, and began
staring at the window in front of him.
The president paused until the prisoners had taken their seats,
and when Maslova was seated, turned to the secretary.
Then the usual procedure commenced; the counting of the jury,
remarks about those who had not come, the fixing of the fines to
be exacted from them, the decisions concerning those who claimed
exemption, the appointing of reserve jurymen.
Having folded up some bits of paper and put them in one of the
glass vases, the president turned up the gold-embroidered cuffs
of his uniform a little way, and began drawing the lots, one by
one, and opening them. Nekhludoff was among the jurymen thus
drawn. Then, having let down his sleeves, the president requested
the priest to swear in the jury.
The old priest, with his puffy, red face, his brown gown, and his
gold cross and little order, laboriously moving his stiff legs,
came up to the lectern beneath the icon.
The jurymen got up, and crowded towards the lectern.
“Come up, please,” said the priest, pulling at the cross on his
breast with his plump hand, and waiting till all the jury had
drawn near. When they had all come up the steps
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